


The Fifth Province

by Purple_Hair_and_Crofters



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Blood and Injury, Cigarettes, Elemental Magic, Emotional Manipulation, Fire Powers, Gangs, Guns, Healers, Heists, Hypnotism, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Knives, Love, M/M, Major Character Injury, Multiple Relationships, Murder, Necromancy, One-Sided Attraction, Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prostitution, Regret, Search for it coward, Sexual Imagery, Telepathy, Theft, Violence, Youve just gotta search for the fluff, its not all bad, powers au, there is fluff i swear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:14:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 61,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24725857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Purple_Hair_and_Crofters/pseuds/Purple_Hair_and_Crofters
Summary: Every person has their power. Every person has their responsibility. Every person has their purpose. Some just, may decide to create their own alongside the one that they've been given.Within the State each citizen understands where they sit and accept that. Some, like a distinctively cloaked person, have long ago accepted that the place that they belong is on the outskirts of a state which was never designed for people like him. Other people have their priorities elsewhere, and the secret connections between provinces are dangerous if they fall into the wrong persons knowledge.But there are snakes out there who want anarchy and assassins willing to kill their own blood and detectives who want to find the culprit and bonds which are yet to even be formed between them.So watch out. Not everyone can be trusted.Disclaimer: Characters are owned by Thomas Sanders on YouTube but the AU and all writing belongs to me.
Relationships: Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders/Deceit | Janus Sanders, Dr. Emile Picani/Sleep | Remy Sanders
Comments: 15
Kudos: 30





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please take note of the tags as there is a lot going on this au and I really dont want people to be upset by anything

Market day, depending on which province you were in, meant extremely different things. If your immediate reaction was food vendors offering hot pies in exchange for metal coins clinking in velvet pouches on your hip, stalls overflowing with fabrics and shawls and silk clothing of every colour imaginable to the human mind, shining diamonds set into gold chains of jewellery which are positioned to attract the attention of passers by so that they would pull themselves off their path to examine whether they were worth buying, then it is safe to say that you have never walked beyond the gates of the 3rd province. Those who were used to the lower provinces, those who dodged authorities and cut through back streets on a regular basis, their concept of 'market day' would have absolutely nothing specifically positive about it.

In fact, it was more likely that their memories would revolve around that of weapons hidden underneath table tops, meetings done behind abandoned buildings. It would revolve around checking around corners in case there was an undercover guard patrolling down the streets. Knocks and passwords to enter into buildings which are more heavily armed than most of the security found within the state. Broken parts and pieces from machines which had been thrown out of the back windows within the higher provinces, wallets snatched from unsuspecting victims whilst walking towards work, knives sharpened to the point where they could slice a throat within seconds if the need for such a thing occurred. On some occasions, when the people of the 5th province became desperate and had no slight of hand tricks which they could give up, they'd haggle off their minds. Offer to work for one gang or another. Go into the business of paid murder, assassination. Or, if intelligence wasn't their thing, then people would always have their bodies to be put up for auction to the highest bidder. It was a messy business, and a highly illegal one at that, but as long as the authorities couldn't be bothered to look past the perfect world that was the centre of the state, the black market wasn't going to be shut down any time soon.

Another thing which a person should need to consider when going to the market was where their loyalties lay. Each gang had a distinctive mark of their leader, and if you wandered into the wrong area of the winding streets and were found sporting the symbol of an opposing gang, a gun would be placed to your temple so fast that you had the time to offer up one prayer to whatever it was that you believed in before you were nothing more than a slumped corpse taking up space on the floor.

Thankfully, the man who was dodging past people and inching his hood down further and further with each step he took into the horrific place, had no need to worry about that. His loyalties lay with himself alone, a rare opportunity for anyone to experience. There was nothing which could cause anyone to jump him, and as long as he kept his head down and money tight to his chest, he shouldn't have any problems. This was, after all, his place. He knew the people who were arguing loudly about the price of a stolen identity, he had bumped into the woman swiping an over baked loaf of bread before, he could identify who was with which gang within seconds just by looking for the distinguishable features that each of them possessed and so kept away from them for his own safety. As he said, he had no loyalties to any one particular gang, but that didn't mean that those same leaders weren't still trying to hunt him down and torture him until he relented and joined their forces.

"Oi, watch it will ya!"

Shoulder hitting hard into the chest an older man going the other way, the cloaked figure mumbled a hurried apology, dipping his head in a show of respect for his ability to not have died young like so many others did, and continuing on with his new found wealth being stealthily slipped into his own bag. This was why you didn't keep where you kept your coins somewhere quickly accessible. The guy was going to notice that he was missing his pocket of coins soon enough, so he really needed to get going. Using a large group who were huddled in the centre of the street as cover, he pushed his way through the bodies and out the other side just in time to hear to hear the exclamation of dismay as the old man desperately searched through his pockets to locate the appropriate coins that he needed to pay someone, head whipping over his shoulder to try and find the kid. Too late. The crowd remained where it was stood discussing business and he used this cover to move around the back of a building and disappear into the empty black of his favourite side street.

So many times he had been here, offering up his wares and things which he had managed to snatch when he had gone stealth in one of the higher provinces. It was usually around the 3rd province, opposed to the upper two. Whilst he had the outfits needed to be able to blend in and seem like he belonged alongside them, the fabric and fit of things was a lot more difficult to replicate the higher through the ranks you went, so as many good things he may be able to find to wager off, the risk of being caught was too high. Plus they had much better security for this type of thing up there, so even if he was able to reach into some rich, unsuspecting citizens pocket, he would be hunted down by an entire police force as soon as it was revealed.

It also helped that down here, he didn't have too pay too much rent for his building whilst still being a well known spot for those looking for something not entirely within the laws of either the state or of life itself. 20 tin coins and 10 bronze may be a person's entire wage for a month around these parts, but with him making enough money to afford this, and also to keep himself from starving, it was a price that he was willing to pay for the protection which was provided. It sat perfectly in between two gang territories, so he didn't have to pay either of those leaders, didn't have to worry about any of the others thinking that he had joined a side and didn't have to be concerned about having his building ransacked for valuables. Protection was a pleasure he had lacked on before, so he was not going to give up the opportunity when it was offered up to him a couple of years ago. What price could a person put on their protection around here really, when protection was more valuable than a person's own life? He knew that all too accurately, having previously been a bit too well acquainted with one of only two people who could ever scare him. Hand the guy a pile of silvers and a name and you would have no more problems from them ever again. He handed death to them on a platter of the silver which he made for the delivery of their head.

A soft sort of shudder made its way through his body as the figure stopped outside the door to his store. He had felt no need for a sign explaining what was inside. Unnecessary spending which only drew attention to him which is what he spent so much of his time deliberately avoiding. Pulling the chain from around his neck, he slid the key separate from the various other charms that hung there, sliding it into the lock and twisting until the wood gave way in its frame and he was able to step forward into his house.

It wasn't much to look at, the ground floor being dedicated to his work and the upper level being where he did most of his living. Bag thrown onto a nearby chair, he flicked on the couple of bulbs which hung from exposed wires in the centre of the ceiling, the familiar scene being illuminated once again by a dull light that hardly creeped into the corners. A large safe was imbedded into grey wall behind a desk - obviously not where he actually kept his money, yet it worked as a diversion for if anyone ever dared to try and steal from him - various legal papers scattered around to show government security if they ever got off their high horses and took an interest in what it was that happened down here. The only other thing in the entire first level, opposed to a thin flight of firm oak stairs, was a metal framed bed and a rare selection of wooden chairs placed around it. When you were in his line of work, nothing else was needed. The luxuries he kept to himself were neatly hidden away upstairs in the various rooms which he had put together up there, although he had made the decision a while ago to keep some of his knife collection down here, on display beside his desk to act as a deterrent in case any of his customers tried to take things too far, or if his home was raided by thieves desperate for quick cash. In the 5th province, you didn't have weapons unless you knew how to use them. And well.

Checking the watch strapped around his wrist, the guy grabbed his bag where it had been discarded it and stuffed it down the back of the desk. No one ever really went behind there beside him as they had no reason to. A safe spot, if you will. Business had been quiet recently anyhow, with the election of a new First Minister causing most people to focus their efforts on complaining about the unfairness of it and robbing upper province houses rather than on getting even with life time enemies.

"Are you open?" A voice piped up from the doorway.

He turned, a woman and a man stood side by side, calm expressions all the more unnerving. "I can be," he replied sharply, folding his arms.

The woman's face turned sour, scrunching her eyes as if it was taken all of her restraint not to just slam his head directly into a wall. Both of them had pendants on. Yellow ones. The chain glistening against their ragged clothes and seeming too perfect on their characters. The snake, body splitting into two heads as it hung at the end of the chain. A symbol of loyalty.

"We have a job which we need you to complete."

"How important is it?" His hand extended out, motioning for the two of them to come in and bring his latest project with them. It seemed that the woman did most of the manual labour, picking it up in her arms whilst the man walked directly over to him, a pouch made of yellow velvet being dropped into his open palm. It felt heavy, which was always good. The string pulled open easily, a quick scan of the coins showing at least 25 silver and several gold coins hidden at the bottom, just glinting through. "Very important, I see." Throwing the bag into the air, he caught it with one hand and shoved it deep down into the inside pocket of his cloak, eyes now focusing on the woman as she trudged through the doorway and let the figure that she was holding drop onto the bed with a loud thud.

"She has information which the boss wants, but this idiot went and shot her clean through the chest without thinking."

"You cannot pin this one on me! You said that we needed to get her one way or another, plus ya know what will happen if he thinks that it was all my fault."

"Should of thought of that before you shot her." Ignoring his other protests, the woman stared directly at him, gaze scraping up and down him as he pulled the hood off his head and slowly twisted his neck around in a circle to relieve the pain from having it ducked for so long. "Oh, and the boss sends his kind regards Virgil."

"Kind regards my ass. That man isn't capable of anything which could even resemble kindness. Now, do you want me to sort this out or not?" At the slight nods, he cracked his fingers in a swift movement. "As I thought. Move back."

Virgil had seen many people laying on his bed. Some young, some old. Male, female, some who were neither and both. Usually they were from the 5th province, but he had been asked to solve the problems with a couple of the upper class members before. This one was probably a couple of years older then himself, somewhere around 28 if he was going to make a guess. She didn't seem all that unattractive - not that he was any judge of that - but her blonde hair was matted against the dried sweat and blood on her skin and her green eyes now called lifelessly out to him, the shine found within the living long ago having drained out and left behind nothing more than an empty shell of a person. It was a shame. Virgil supposed that she could have been someone promising, perhaps she may have been one using her freedom to work up the ranks. He couldn't see any symbol on her, so there was also the chance that she was running away from the same gang that had hunted her down.

Hands coming to hover over the body, Virgil focused his energy into his palms, skin beginning to tingle slightly as the power rippled from the store somewhere deep inside him and his eyes fluttered to a closer. Mind reliving her final moments, stood beside as he watched with no capabilities of doing anything. Focusing upon the sections with her body that he could feel death the most strongly. He took one slow breath in and lifted his hands up as he did so, a swirling purple smoke rising up from the body with him, curling off the skin of the body like it was being steamed and forming a mass of choking purple gas above where she was laid. Holding his breath was the hard part, not being able to release it until the last of the entrails of smoke had risen up, pulling the death out with it. This had been a quick, clean kill, so thankfully it didn't take too long. Satisfaction filling his mind, Virgil's eyes flickered open and he let go of the breath. The smoke zoomed together, turning and turning over and over into a heavy ball in the middle of the room, growing faster as it got smaller, soon nothing bigger than the size of a grape. It was only then that he moved, reaching forward and grabbing the last of it from the air, gripping his fingers into a fist and feeling it disappear out of existence.

The man had begun gawking. Virgil supposed that he had never seen him before, so this was probably the first time coming to the shop and seeing what it was that he did. It was no longer impressive to either him, or the woman who he knew was a regular when it came to bringing in bodies for him to work on, but the new guy was staring at him with a combination of intrigue and disgust. Well, he would most likely be dead by the end of the day anyway so he wasn't going to have to see him again.

"What exactly did you do-"

"Shut up and give it a few seconds. Bodies don't immediately start moving once you've bought the back from the dead," Virgil snapped at him.

He instantly fell silent. The three of them stared at the body, long enough that the two customers were beginning to grow restless when the girl suddenly bolted upwards on the bed, chest heaving and lungs desperately forcing her to inhale large gulps of air. A fragile hand rested on her chest. When she finally registered that she was alright, she would have no recollection of anything which had happened for about 10 minutes, at which point all her memories would come flooding back. Just enough time for her to be taken back to the main base of the gang where she'd have to go through much worse things if she refused to give up the information which they were expecting. Irony at it's finest. There was a 75% chance that she would also be dead by the end of the day.

"I'm sure the boss will be grateful to you for this," the woman said briskly as she assisted the dazed girl off the bed. She just earned a scoff from Virgil.

"Just take her and get out of my shop. I don't send any kind regards back to him, but thank him for the work for me. I'm sure he'd love to learn that one of his members had killed someone they needed info from, then forcing him to get out of pocket to pay me to bring them back for ya. Pass that message on for me."

The man laughed weakly, head turning between Virgil and the woman. "Wait, you can't be serious right? Come on, you don't even owe loyalty to him there's no need to send that across to him. We paid you, what more do you need?" His voice had raised several pitches, becoming more and more desperate, eyes widening further as the woman grabbed hold of his collar and began dragging him out of the store, legs kicking wildly as she casually pulled him with one arm and directed the girl with the other. "No, you can't do this! He'll kill me! You know full well that he'll kill me! You son of a bitch, with your fake sense of no loyalty. If you don't belong to him then why the hell are you doing this?"

Tiredly smiling at the man as his heels dragged into the stones and he tried to find his grip on something, Virgil tucked a chair back under the bed. "I don't take kindly to murderers."

He didn't bother to look at the man again as he yelled obscenities into the alley. He could hear feet dragging along as the noise got quieter with the more distance that the woman put between him and them. Finally, there was nothing more than the chatter of vendors on the streets and quiet footsteps hurrying up and down outside his window.

Virgil had said that it was a shame about the girl. It wasn't so much of a shame that she had been killed - it would definitely have been better for her to have remained dead if the chance had been given - but more of a shame that he had been forced to bring her back. Over the years Virgil had found that there were three types of people who were brought to him as a necromancer; those who the gangs needed alive for information, those who gangs needed alive for money, and those who had been killed far too young for someone's conscience to allow them to remain away from the land of the living. Sure, the joy on some of the faces when reunited with people they thought they had lost forever was nice to see amongst all the havoc and death. But the spark in the person's eyes, the one that showed that you were alive and held all your feelings, all your personality, all your soul, it wasn't there when they were resurrected. It was a whole lot of happiness at being given a second chance, with nothing of the sort behind the eyes. It was too much like looking in the mirror.

Marble floor and grand architecture. Arches made from the finest sourced components to ensure that it was as perfectly crafted as anybody could be able to determine. Circular windows dotted on each of the floors so that a constant stream of light was able to make it's way into the rooms and illuminate the limited edition, hand crafted furniture which filled the immense amount of space that was available. It looked like something that could have been seen to be illustrated in a child's fantasy novel, so similar to the design of a castle that the younger version of himself which would always sit inside of him was screaming with excitement. Externally, he showed no such intense emotions, but he couldn't stop himself from smiling as he looked over the place once again. It wasn't even his first time seeing it or entering the building, but it would take a long time before he was used to knowing that this place was where he would live.

Even when you come from a background of old money, raised surrounded by maids who will serve your every whim, chefs trained to the highest standard delivering five star meals three times a day if not more when requested and several butlers throughout the years who made it their sworn duty to wait on the master of the house hand and foot, this was still an immense improvement in living conditions. It was almost double the size of his old mansion that he had lived in since his birth, if not more. Three extra floors, one specifically being dedicated to meetings and press conferences and anything which came attached with the job that he had taken on. He could hire anybody who he felt were needed, according to the contract which he had spent days reading due to how lengthy - and quite frankly how boring - it was, and likewise he could fire anybody who worked here who did not live up to his standards. He had no intention of doing that any time soon, but things could change.

Door opening for him, he carefully swung his legs out of the car and stood up, dusting down his outfit as it there was something on it. It was actually just an act for the cameras lining either side of the pathway up to his house, reporters determined to get the best picture or the biggest news slapped onto the front page of their newspaper as soon as possible, or at the least before the rest of their competition. What better way than to get the best shot of the new First Minister whilst his election was still fresh off the press?

"You have a visitor awaiting your return inside, sir. I was informed of such whilst we were driving here."

The butler who had come with the house was called Henry. A rather younger version of what was expected from a butler, although he was still nearing closer to the 50 mark every year, but he most certainly did not skim on his ability to keep himself looking presentable or the rest of his duties. Any visitor or important meeting or paperwork which he was aware that the first minister either needed to attend to or complete was written onto a piece of paper, conveniently placed on his desk so that when the minister was in a hurry and searching for what it was that he needed, he had a clear reminder. In the short amount of time he had known him, the minister had decided that he like Henry. He would be one of the ones kept on.

As soon as he began the short journey from the car into the house, cameras were flashing and voices were overlapping as pens scrawled hurriedly upon note paper.

"First minister, can you give us a lowdown on how you feel about being elected?"

"Minister, are you really the right man for the job when many other candidates had much more experience?"

"Minster, minister! What are you going to do about the lower provinces?"

"First minister, over here!"

"Look here please minister."

_"Minister, minister, minister!"_

__

__

Zoning out as he walked, he kept the friendly smile plastered on his face as to not give across the wrong impression, nodding slightly to the huddled crowds of faces hidden behind lenses and paper, so close together that they reminded him of swarms of bees. All working together to sting only one person who had knocked their hive out of the tree by beating the predicted favourite to win this election. Him. The first minister was usually someone much older than him, someone who always said they had experience in politics and knew what they wanted. And it was for this very reason that he was pretty certain the only reason that he was voted in was because the voters, the citizens of the 1st and 2nd province, were sick of having to deal with lower class scum breaking into their houses and stealing valuable items to pawn off to pay for who knows what filthy habits. None of the older ones had ever done anything about it before, so the next best step was to try it with fresh meat.

The shoes he was wearing felt too uncomfortable. Too pointy and formal. If he focused than he could hear the short heel of them clicking satisfyingly against the pathway, sliding quickly over the smoothed sandstone. 6 steps led up to the door of the house itself, he counted as a distraction. Counting as he began walking up them, he got to the fourth before he lost focus and a question pierced it's way into his mind.

"First minister, are the rumours about your past true? Did you really drive away your brother because you lost your temper and set him on fire due to your elemental capabilities?"

He froze, leg lifted halfway off the ground. His eyes connected with the journalist. They were stood at the front of the one group to the right of him, their notepad hanging at their side as if they didn't even care about whether he responded. They were just staring, waiting for a reaction and when he turned to look at them, they got what they had been looking for.

"Sir, your visitor is waiting."

"Yes, yes. Of course. I got distracted for a second is all, sorry Henry."

Turning his head from the reporter, he walked through the door which had been opened for him, that uneasy feeling which he got whenever his brother was mentioned swirling in his stomach and making a sense of illness to sweep through him without any control of it. Henry swung the door shut, letting it do so perhaps a little louder than normal, but incredibly appreciated as he was dragged back out of his thoughts and he was forced to focus on the present and his duties.

Directed through the length of corridor, he decided that the best way for him to distract himself from boredom was by counting the number of lightbulbs he went past. They were positioned in rows across the centre or the ceiling, lamps also hanging off walls in case he ever needed a more comforting light that wasn't blinding white from directly above. He had already missed several of them in the time it had taken him to walk, but from what he had been able to catch a glimpse of there were about 30 lights in this one corridor alone, the final one being a red light positioned above glass doors that binged on when he approached, Henry waiting for them to slide open and standing between them so that the sensors registered a presence and didn't close. Although he loved most of this building, he couldn't stand the elevator. He knew that the glass aspect of it was meant to show how open he was to guests or paparazzi or something like that which he had been briefed on right at the start, but when you were stuck inside it with no escape and climbing up floor after floor, it was frankly terrifying to watch the floor slowly disappear below you.

"Sir, are you alright?" Henry looked concerned and the minister realised that they had actually reached the appropriate floor a minute ago, he had just been staring so intensely at absoltely nothing that he hadn't registered and probably looked like he was going insane.

"Yes, thank you. Where's the visitor expecting me?"

"Meeting room four, sir. He insisted that the two of you knew one another and that he must speak with you. I must say, he was rather persuasive."

"I'll go meet him then. Oh Henry," he called out as the butler began to walk away, "could you bring some tea and coffee up for us? We should really be accommodating when someone visits from now on."

The older man bowed slightly at the hip. "Of course sir."

Watching as Henry proceeded to walk down the opposite direction to him, slipping through a door which led to one of the many rooms joined together through which all the staff traveled, he sighed. Ideally he would be able to try and get through some of the stacks of paperwork which he had found no time to complete recently. Why was there so much paperwork? Politics had never been his first plan, but he had a knack for it and his generally likeable public persona had only helped in pushing him further into the higher positions. Going for First Minister had been a joke at first, friends nudging his arm and suggesting that he consider the possibility, and now he was actually here it didn't feel real in the slightest. Meeting room four was one of the smaller ones, designated to be home to visitors who came individually or in pairs as there was no need to use a full board room with 20 plus chairs when it would be only him and one other. Taking a breath to prepare himself, he swiped a hand through his hair to reposition it and walked in.

"First Minister Roman." A familiar voice called out to him, the man walking over to him and extending a hand in professionalism despite the smile spreading across his face. "Glad you could find the time to be acquainted with me once again."

"Logan! They wouldn't tell me who it was, just that I had a visitor. If I had known I would have made it more comfortable for you." Not bothering to shake his hand, Roman pulled Logan into a hug, all sense of uncertainty draining out of him. "I've been meaning to try and get hold of you, but between press conferences, meetings and paperwork I've not found the time. How have you been?"

"Pleasant. I anticipated that it would be a while before I could reach you, so there's really no need for apologies. However, I should be congratulating you on your new position, First Minister."

Roman waved a dismissive hand. "Please, you've known me for my entire life. Don't start the formality now, just stick with Roman."

"As you wish."

A short knock came from the door. Through the misted glass you could make out the shape of a man, handle lowering down and Henry pushed the door away from him. He had a metal trolley, wheels squeaking against the carpet, a large teapot and a coffee brewer resting on the top level, silver teaspoons and intricately decorated matching teacups and plates covered the entirety of the second level. Walking in, the butler nodded to the two men and waved his arm over the array of suggestions. It barely took him any time to serve them, already knowing off by heart how Roman took all of his drinks - a decent amount of milk and two sugars no matter whether it was tea or coffee - and soon had memorized the simplicity of that of their guest, plain black coffee. Far too bitter for his own liking, but Henry was not in the business of judging people for their taste preferences. After all, the previous minister has refused to have anything with less than 6 sugar cubes dissolved into it and even then would complain about the liquid not being sweet enough for him. Henry had just learnt that, if he felt like there was enough sweetness, add another three spoon-fulls and that would be about accurate.

"I hope you enjoy, sirs."

"Why thank you Henry, I'm sure it will be as amazing as it so often is with you." Smiling for comfort, Roman nodded in gratitude and raised his cup up slightly, the two of them sharing some sort of communication just by making eye contact before the butler backed out of the room with what remained on his trolley and pushed it off down the corridor to leave the two of them in peace.

The visitor swirled the brown mixture around in his cup, watching as it splashed slightly against the delicate china and returned back to the pool from which the droplets had come. "As we were discussing before, I do recall that you said you had been meaning to get in touch with me? I would have thought that with your schedule being as increasingly hectic as it is now, you would not wish to waste such precious time on entertaining myself. It was myself, after all, who encouraged you to go for the role in the first place."

Roman had known Logan since they were both children. They had grown up close to one another, houses built quite literally one street width apart so that the second you walked out of the front door of Roman's and dodged across the road, you were now placed directly outside Logan's equally grand home. It was evident that the two had been bought up very differently, despite how similar the conditions in which this was done were. Both weren't lacking in money, and both had people constantly swarming around the house, whether to help with housework or cooking or being business associates of one or both of their parents who had come to talk about deals and secure themselves more money, the idea that they certainly weren't lacking anything being an understatement. The only thing they could claim to have lacked was consistency. Logan's parents had not desired to have any more children beyond him, so all their efforts of parenting had been directly poured into him. Best education and the best schools. Trained under every subject that they could think of. Languages were drilled into his brain at a young age. When Roman was out pretending that a tree was a dragon who he needed to fight and so hit it repeatedly with a stick he had snapped off one of its branches, Logan was most likely sat at a desk reciting Latin numbers or trying to understand the overall structure of how the government in the state worked. Sure, they had been friends, but it was always Roman who had ensured he lived at least some of his childhood.

Whilst he was heavily observed during the day to ensure optimum study time, when the sun set and his parents were tucked soundly into their beds, Roman would throw twigs at Logan's window to grab his attention and the two of them would sneak out of their respective houses, going into the calm dark of night and having long conversations about anything and everything whilst stargazing. Logan would point out the various constellations and Roman would add in his own, insisting that a random bunch of stars which were all close to each other looked similar to a basket. They never did, but he declared them so with such a conviction, such a certainty behind his words that Logan had yet to understand and master in his own voice and ideas, that he dared not try and correct him. Over time, he had found that he instinctively looked for those new constellations when he was outside. Even now that they were older, much older than the young, hopeful, naïve children that they had once been, a small part of him still wanted to believe that the scatter of burning gas balls millions of lightyears away had been placed there deliberately so that they looked like a cat, or a tree, or a basket.

It was also Logan's fault that Roman had even considered going in to politics, so technically he could also be held accountable for the fact that the man had managed to get himself up into the highest position that was possible within the state. Neither of them had really any idea what they were going to do when they grew up, but when they were teenagers Logan had concluded that he was going to be a detective. His reasoning was long and heavy, but it was a well established job so his parents would approve, and it gave him a sense of achievement to know that he had been able to bring criminals or anybody who disregarded the laws to a justice they would not have otherwise seen.

Where Roman would go into was a lot more complicated. For a while he considered the arts, specifically theatre. Actors of any sort were often praised for their capabilities and excellent performances, so it wasn't as if he would just entirely fall out of the public opinion if he had ultimately gone into that course. It had been a promising opportunity. Until the Partum family incident and suddenly he was thrown back down to square one.

No one spoke of it anymore, but the rumours hung over all of them like a cloud at any given time, and anyone who was anyone, and even those who were nothing, all knew one version or another about what happened. Long story drawn quickly to a close, the family went from having two heirs to the inheritance, to only one. Roman. Many people were under the belief that whatever had occurred was a result of Roman's powers remaining unchecked for too long, having got the elemental ability from his mothers side and being able to conjure fire at the snap of a finger. Logan refused to believe any of it. He was an excellent judge of character, and when Roman had told him an alternate story, he instantly knew without question that he was telling the truth to him. So with every loyal fibre that was left within him, Logan fought anybody who tried to tell him what had happened that one day; if so much as a word of falsehood was uttered surrounding what happened to the second son, Logan would instantly be there, telling them about the inaccuracies and plot holes within their stories. forcing himself into their minds and persuading them of the fact that they were so entirely wrong it was laughable. He had then suggested politics. Roman certainly had a public image which he wanted to restore and uphold, so why not do that alongside a career where he would be able to make changes to the place that he had grown in. That, ultimately, brought them back to the present.

"Exactly, which is why I wanted to get hold of you. You see, there are several positions within the government which I need to fill so that I'm not left handling everything on my own, and I wanted to offer you one. Chief of State."

Spluttering into his coffee, Logan briefly adjusted his glasses and placed the hot mug down onto the table. "Excuse me?"

"You know everything there is to know about the state, you're easily the smartest person I have ever met and it means that I won't be surrounded completely by strangers when trying to run all of the provinces." Roman leant forward, resting his elbows onto the wooden surface, "alongside that, I also want to offer you a newly formed role of being the official state detective. It's basically your current job, but you get unlimited access to anything which you need to know to solve your cases and are in charge of all the police forces. Don't worry, this would efficiently fit with Chief of State, as you would be second only to me and lets be honest, you'll probably end up keeping this state from falling into despair rather then me. So," Roman stood up and extended a hand out towards him, "do you accept?"

"Surely there must be people who are already appointed? Or at the least somebody who would be far better suited to both of those positions other than me."

"I dismissed the old Chief of State. She worked well with the guy who I took over from, but questioned every decision I tried to make on my first day, even down to whether I wanted to eat in my office or the dining area, and she was so patronising Logan you should have seen her. There was no way she was staying. Plus, I want you to work beside me so that I have at least one capable person on my team."

The room fell silent. Roman remained stood, arm outstretched, whilst Logan contemplated every possible consequence or positive quickly over in his head. He always had this look on his face when he was thinking, one of a man who knew far too much information too young and so anything else was just being forced to find its space alongside everything else which he had been forced to cram in there over the years. When he was sorting through all that information, his eyes glazed over momentarily, only refocusing when he had reached a conclusion and stood hastily up from his seat to shake Roman's hand.

"Glad to have you on the team, Chief of State Logan."

"Glad to be here, First Minister Roman."

Laughing loudly, Roman walked around the table to pat Logan on the back. If nothing else, this was one small victory that he had been able to achieve whilst he still held this position. Now, to sort out the rest of the problems he was being forced to deal with.

"Sir." Henry had appeared at the door out of nowhere, causing Roman to jump from the suddenness. He coughed, trying to hide the fact that he had just been absolutely terrified by his own butler, although Logan smirking in his peripheral vision certainly wasn't helping the matter. "As you requested earlier, I found you a replacement body guard for your old one. Would you like me to introduce you to him? I have checked all of his credentials and previous history, and he appears like he will do an excellent job of protecting you whilst in office."

"That was quick." Roman mumbled slightly, adjusting the red sash that was given as a symbol of his status to sit more perfectly across his chest. "Please send him in and introduce him to me and my new Chief of State."

Henry took a few steps down the corridor, calling for a person and beckoning him into the room. Heavy footsteps clunked across the floor, chains jangling around his neck with every micro movement that he made. As he came into view, Roman was able to sweep his eyes over him and he could see that there was a gun holstered to his belt, glinting along the various sized knives. He had to admit, he certainly was intimidating.

"This is First Minister Roman, the man who you will be protecting, and his newly appointed Chief of State Logan. Minister, chief, may I introduce to you your new bodyguard. Janus Dolo."

For those who's businesses or lines of work are not revolved around anything which could even be remotely classified as illegal or sketchy, there were a variety of different, relatively cheap places in more open spaces that would provide as a place of business without dwelling on the fears that you need to show your loyalty with great caution. As an example of this, several small food shops line the streets in the main section of the 5th province; granted, they aren't exactly the nicest places for a person to go when they are starving, and the prices in some could be extremely high if the owners were desperate enough, but the gangs knew not to try and take them down else no one in the forsaken place would be able to find something to eat. The same went for various other shops, all placed in a sort of circle around the main square. It was the furthest into the province that any of the state police went, which is what made it so perfect for anybody who wanted to have a legitimate source of income, and why nobody dared to get rid of them. If they were the only ones being checked on and they were classified as being legitimate, then the police just left them alone and allowed the rest of the province to do whatever the hell it was that they wanted.

Some who use the area do so due to having been kicked out of a higher province and still not wanting to lose a sense of their purpose, refusing to stoop low enough to be forced to rely on swift hands or agile feet to get something which could provide them with money. Others were scared of the gangs, hence positioning themselves in a place that they wouldn't dare try to attack. A rare few really just, didn't have any problems with their business and so could use it. They were few and far between, with approximately only two, maybe three of them being able to say that they weren't avoiding anyone or from a higher province, they just happened to have a service everyone needed that could be proven with papers.

The main one of such was a healers. A wooden sign hung outside the front of the entrance to the place, swinging gently in the breeze that was moving its way carefully around the streets, faded from years in the sun but still distinguishable enough to read "Low Cost Healers". It was decently sized, enough space for three different floors, two of which had been specifically allocated to serving any customer that stumbled through the doors searching for someone who could help them, or help a lover, or help a family member. The top floor was where the owner slept. He could claim to live there as well, but with the amount of time he spent working compared to how long he actually spent on his own up there, it was much easier to only say that he slept there and nothing more.

By the door was a small bell, just loud enough that when anybody entered he could hear it no matter where he was in the building at the time, ringing loudly as a woman pushed open the door. She was frantic, only managing to enter by using her shoulder due to the red-stained bundle that she was carrying in her arms.

"Hello? Please, is someone here? I.. I need help. I really need help."

She let the door close behind her on its own, going quickly to a large panel of oak that worked as a type of desk on which he kept his papers neatly in piles, lines of various bottles filled with medication that he had stashed over the years to give to patients who were still recovering, mostly painkillers for when he couldn't get them to stay still for long enough to actually be able to heal them. The longer that she went without being able to see anyone, the more frantic she became, breathing ragged and arms shaking as she continued to clutch the pile of clothes tightly to her chest.

"Please! There has to be somebody here."

Rushing through one of the doors that were attached to the waiting area, a man appeared by her side, round glasses falling slightly off his face in the haste and blonde hair pointing in all directions other then where it was meant to be. His arms were full of papers that he had been sorting out surrounding different patients who he had helped over the last few days, making sure that he could prove each of their identities if there was a need for him to do so, and that he could recite what exactly it was that helped them with. You wouldn't think that the people who usually ignored them and couldn't care less about what happened to the occupants of this province would be so thorough in their security checks, but he had been proven wrong on a vast number of occasions. Random spot checks seemed to be their favourite thing, going no further then this section of buildings but going through each of them so acutely and with an intense desire to find even the slightest reason to close him down that they were all convinced they just wanted the already poor sections of the state to suffer even more.

"I'm so sorry, I was preoccupied. Please, come on through and I'll try to help you as much as I can before its too late."

"No, you don't understand." The woman was crying, sobbing even, tears making everything blurry and meaning that she could only see a misty outline of the man in front of him. "I can't pay you, I have no way too, but I didn't know where else-"

"Follow me."

He glanced over towards the door, checking that nobody else was walking through the doors or nearby before gently tugging on the woman's sleeve and taking them upstairs. Whilst the top floor was where he kept all his personal belongings, the bottom was for those who could afford to pay him for his services. Once, someone had told him that being willing to help people even when he would get no money from it was entirely pointless due to the fact that he would make no profits, that he wouldn't be able to afford the rent for the place for more than a year before he was pushed out of business and back onto the streets. Well, three years later he was still going strong. Mostly that was probably due to the business he got from people of various gangs, helping leaders and the lowest of members alike, essentially giving him free reign over the entire province without having to worry about anyone trying to take him down because of how grateful they all were. As soon as you were on the safelist for one of them, it wasn't long before you were on the safelist for all of them and by this point there wasn't one gang member stupid enough to rob him or take him down, out of fear for their own lives. Having every gang in the province on you wasn't on the top of anybody's list.

The idea of offering his services for free had been his own, a concept he had come up with after an incident when a young boy had limped into his store, in such immense pain that it was surprising he had even got there in the first place. Offering up a couple of tin coins that emptied out what seemed to be his entire fund, the boy had looked so defeated, so ashamed at knowing he didn't have enough to pay to have his leg sorted, that one look made him realise that he was going to help anybody who needed it, regardless of whether he gained a profit from it. There wasn't a price he could put on someone's health that was worth more than having them be healthy at all.

Which is why he had dedicated the second floor of the building to off the book business, those who offered nothing but gratitude in return but who weren't beyond his capabilities before it was too late and there was nothing more he could do. He looked over his shoulder to check that the woman was alright, reaching the top of the stairs and taking them over to one of the beds that he had laid out, searching around for various bottles of medication whilst the small body was laid in front of him.

"What happened to them?"

"We were just going to try and sell this necklace I found so that I could buy some bread, and there was this fight going on outside one of the yellow viper buildings. The one person had shadow manipulation powers and, and they had thrown this long spear made out of shadow but the person had moved out of the way and..."

Loose cotton shirt being lifted out of the way, he was able to assess the damage. It was thankfully to the side of the stomach, away from most of the major organs and from what he could see there wasn't too much life threatening damage which would be a cause for concern, although they were going to bleed out soon enough if he didn't do something about the hole that was torn through them. Deciding against providing pain medication due to the fact that the kid was entirely out cold, he moved the limbs into a position so that he could easily reach the wound without causing any more discomfort. He hated it when it was children. They were always so young, never meaning to be caught up in whatever it was that had got them into this position, and not once had any of them deserved to have been hurt in the way that they had. This was not the place to raise a child by any means, but when you were stuck here with no way out and no skills to get a job above the 4th province, parents were just forced to do the best that they could to protect the one person who they cared for above their own lives. Too many young lives had been lost. Literally, getting caught in fights like this one or raids of homes or as punishment to their parents for not paying up. Metaphorically, when they were dragged into helping gangs and ripping their souls apart too easily.

Cold fingers grazed over the edges of the wound, taking in the damage as a soft blue glow began to flow through his veins and into his palms. Inch by inch, the nerves regrew themselves, the pieces of flesh reappeared and reached across the gap until they connected and began to reconstruct the section of the body quickly, blood clotting to allow him to work and every layer of skin on the top of it all was painted that same blue as it reached over the hole to fix it back together. As long as he remained focused, eyes zoning in on the sections of the body that weren't how they should have been, he was able to get it going at a faster rate. Any other injuries on the body, any scratch they had or graze or bruise, was indirectly repairing itself at the same time, taking the power which was being flowed into the body and using it to the full advantage that it could. Any opportunity to fix itself was needed, and appreciated.

From the side lines the mother was still crying, hand clamped over her mouth as to not disrupt him whilst he was in the middle of his work but a part of her wishing more than anything just to run over to her child and hold them until they were alright. Her face was being illuminated by the blue glow, eyes wide and reflecting what she saw through the tears. It was never easy having to watch anyone be healed, especially when you weren't used to it, but he reckoned that it was much worse when it was your own child. It had to be.

Moving where he pressed his fingers into the stomach as the injury was nearing closer to fixing itself entirely, he waited until the last of the strands of skin were stretched across and closed the entire thing, proceeding to place his palm gently onto the affected area to feel if there was movement underneath it. It did take a few seconds, but sure enough he could soon feel the section of the body functioning as if nothing had even happened to it. There would be a faint scar there, a pale blue colour in the jagged circle where the shadow spear had punctured right through the child, but as for the problem itself, they would make a full recovery when they awoke in a few hours. Being so close to death was exhausting, taking away all your energy and causing a person to sleep for hours. And this child had not only been close to dying, they had been having a full conversation with death, talking over dinner whilst he had been desperately making sure that they were saved.

"They'll be alright," he whispered, using the back of his hand to wipe away beads of sweat that had appeared there. "They will need to rest for a few days, so keep them away from anything that could put too much pressure on their body."

Finally allowing herself to sob, the woman rushed over. The child was sleeping, face no longer contoured into a pained expression, resting peacefully in a state of tranquillity that had certainly not been there before. With shaking hands she moved a piece of hair out of their face. She was relieved to say the least, waiting to check that they were breathing and then using a gentle grip to lift them up off the bed, pulling them back to her as if there was the chance that they would be snatched away at any second, that she would be told this was all a lie and she would be left holding nothing but air and the weight of not knowing where her child was.

"Thank you." Barely a whisper, hoarse throat managing to croak it out as she gazed lovingly at the face of her child. "Thank you so much, Mr..?"

"Patton, you can just call me Patton and please don't thank me, they didn't deserve what happened to them and what sort of person would I be to deny someone service for something as momentary as money when I have gone through times of barely affording food to survive. Just make sure that the both of you rest and stay away from any of the gang buildings, especially the yellow viper dens."

"We will, we will I promise. Thank you. Thank you."

Retreating back down the stairs with Patton, the woman continued to mutter word after word of thanks, of appreciation, refusing to stop even as she was walking out of the store and into the street, the thanks only coming to a halt when he carefully pushed the door closed behind her and the tingling of the bell sounded around him. He had to admit that he had not been expecting that today. In fact, after having looked at the time on the clock positioned above some of the chairs, the one thing - well, the one person - who he had been expecting appeared to be a no show. They were all busy recently so there was really no reason for him to be surprised, but Patton had been hoping that he would find some way to come and see him. It had been too long. As much as he tried not to worry, he couldn't help it. When somebody didn't contact you or come and see you for a long amount of time in the 5th province, it was immediately suspected that the worst had befallen them and that you might as well just accept that you would never see them again, so no matter how much he convinced himself that he was alright, after everything that they had gone through, it was difficult not to jump to conclusions within seconds. He was a smart guy, he always had been, he would be able to take care of himself. Patton just hoped that he hadn't gone and got himself mixed back up with one of the gangs, else there was no taking him back from that.

There was still a lot of paperwork that needed finishing about the patients he had helped. So with one final, longing look into the street through the window, Patton pulled a pen out from a pot rested on his desk, sat himself down in the chair, sorted the papers into a pile which would make sense to begin with, and began to complete them all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw: Alcohol consumption, implied prostitution and mentions of violence and murder 
> 
> Please stay safe y'all

Considering how small the province was designed to be, there was a significant proportion of the state population crowding its streets and filling the houses to the point of them overflowing, some families being forced into no more than two rooms for all of them because of the fact that all the bigger houses, the open ones, they belong to the gangs. Unless you can find some way to get a job in one of the higher provinces and go from there, your only two options are to deal with the poverty and make ends meet whatever way you can, or join one of the gangs and do the job you're given for a steady pay. For that same reason, when walking down the streets from one side of it to the other, it was unlikely for you to be able to find any section of it without some sort of humanity bracing its darkest crevices and twisted lanes and crumbling brick, high rise buildings which you could stand on top of and stare out for miles.

As much as you might think that you could be safe from others by standing on top of the terraces that might as well be skyscrapers in some places and barely one floor on others, Virgil could say differently. It was the perfect place for deals. Passing on goods which you didn't want others to know about or completing transferences of ownership for products that could potentially be classed as 'human'. It wasn't too uncommon to find someone pushed from the side of one, body tumbling towards the ground and becoming a pile of blood and bones smashed across the walkway for all to see. They were warnings. Usually. Sometimes, it was just a missed payment. Sometimes, an idea drawn from the depths of the minds of the more twisted of the leaders, it was purely for fun. He was cleared to say that he had never experienced one of these instances himself, but he had seen the aftermath of them and he had been acquainted once with a sweet guy who ran his mouth off a bit too much and you can imagine where that would have gotten him in this place.

Luckily, the rooftops were currently empty. Standing on top of them and staring out at the blocks of concrete which lines the bustling road, Virgil felt more at ease than he did probably ever, other than when he was locked up on the top floor of his building. It was safe up here and if someone appeared, he could just sprint and hop down onto a lower level to get away, or he could just leap over the side and hope that he didn't damage something too badly. Can't fight back with broken limbs; a piece of advice, if you will.

People were moving around below him like tiny ants. So small that he felt almost like a god. The only time he would and could ever feel as such. He was certain that if he just leant down, he could grab one of them by the back of their flimsy collar and lift them up and look at them in his eye and they would be no more than the size of his thumb. In reality they would be able to throw him into the side of a building with one movement if they so desired, but it was nice to consider the possibility of controlling your own life enough that nobody would be seen as above you. Perhaps that was what he had missed out on when he bought a place away from capture, the chance to make it big. Must be nice being a gang leader. Power, money, willing workers, space, control, the ability to do whatever you want.

Metal scraped across the bricks and Virgil spun around, the ladder leading up to the back of a nearby building shaking as someone began to climb up the rungs one by one. He needed to get moving, plus he was going to be late. Pulling his hood up to cover at least three quarters of any recognisable features, Virgil angled his body and ran. Ran right to the edge, feet pushing down and limbs shooting him over the gap onto the next surface, knees bent, body curling into a ball so that he just rolled along the concrete without getting anything more than a few scrapes and a most likely a bruise on his shoulder when he hit the ground wrong.

This was normal, something he had experience in, the wind threatening to grasp his cloak and pull it off of him whilst he ran, the cold air slapping against his skin like thousands of tiny needles pushing into the areas that were exposed, feet pounding heavily against brick and concrete and wood and stone as he went from rooftop to rooftop, delivering himself further away from the area which he was familiar with, and more into the main areas of the province where guards actually cared at least a bit about the goings on in the shops. He could visibly see the steady change in occupants out of the corner of his eye. The closer he neared to the legitimate stores, the brighter the colours were that people wore, no longer lurking in the shadows out of sight. Less gang symbols were visible, less people owing loyalty even though there were still a few. Streets grew wider as less people stood on them, houses grew taller, the entire place itself seemed to lighten up, breathing a sigh of relief at taking itself out of territories and into a place of relative safety.

Having gone this route many times before, Virgil was moving based on muscle memory, not needing to pay too much attention as he hopped over gaps and sped along like this was a daily occurrence for him. It wasn't, but he had still been this way enough times that he began to slow down as he reached the top of a bakers, one more quick step and his feet dragged into the ground until he was bought to a stop. The shop underneath him was a jewellers. Nobody had the money to buy anything from them, but it served as a skeleton, a shell, to hide back door deals that emerged in the night when no living person would be paying attention. It did get some business though, but that was usually from guards who were passing through and wanted a piece of memorabilia to show off that they had come to the province and lived to tell the tale, or from leaders with gold rings that made it their goal to show off the wealth they had.

Observing from up here was significantly more boring than when he was back in the hidden parts of the province, if only for the lack of secrets that you could learn just by looking around and playing close attention to those who seemed a little bit too uncomfortable. The only remotely interesting thing was clear line between where the fifth province ended and the fourth province began. The houses were nicer, although not fancy, and not one person wore a symbol of loyalty. You could even begin to see some foliage, trees bursting through stone to show just a bit of colour. Apparently there were flowers in the first province. Imagine that.

When Virgil finally had stopped contemplating how different everything was up here, he also realised that he should get going before he was late, and considering he had missed several of the last few times that he was planning to meet him, he didn't want to cause him any more worry than he knew he already had. There was a small, slightly shaded alleyway down the back of the shop with a set of large containers for anything which needed disposing on, perfect for landing on even if the metallic clang was deafening and caused his ears to ring when he ducked out onto the square.

Several food shops were dotted around the place, bakers, grocers, meat suppliers and the like, the jewellers behind him, a fabric store which Virgil always expected to go out of business, two opposing gang recruitment buildings which were also known as a watch fixer and a bookstore to the authorities, and the store he was actually here to see. Thinking about it, why hadn't the bookstore been suspected yet? It wasn't as if many people could read.

Hood pulled down, quickly jogging over stones, grinning as he looked at the sign that was faded but still there after all this time, and Virgil pushed it open to the sound of a bell alerting of his entrance. Well, that was new.

"I'll be out in a minute!" A hurried voice called out from one of the back rooms, "I'm just trying to find a medicine bottle so I won't be too long."

It had definitely got a lot more comfortable in here than last time, which was much too long ago for Virgil to say with certainty that he would even be welcomed back, despite knowing that he could come here whenever and still be treated like some sort of star. The older wooden chairs had been refurbished, basic cushions made from scraps of fabric being placed on top so that people could wait in significantly more comfort. Papers were laid on a desk neatly for authorities. Had he had any need to use them recently? That was the whole reason Virgil stayed away from here with his work, because papers and legality was never really his thing and you couldn't easily legalise necromancy; he knew, he had looked into it. Not his style. But the place was nice, and he knew that it suited its occupant well with the brightness that seemed to fill it despite a significant lack of windows and the obvious attempts to make the customers who he saw at ease from the second they walked through the door.

He debated sitting down but decided against it, thinking that it would be too much hassle when he was just going to stand back up again in a couple of minutes, and when he considered the fact that he wasn't technically a customer, it seemed slightly rude to take one of the seats. From the corner of his eye he could see a flight of stairs leading upwards, the two floors above presumably still holding the different purposes that they always had, the top for the limited number of personal possessions which he had and the second for when he was offering his services without pay. He always had been the more generous one of the two.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, I got preoccupied and ended up trying to stop all my glass jars from smashing onto the floor." Pen tucked behind his ear, several papers stacked into his arms, he adjusted his glasses with one of his free knuckles. "Now, what injury is it that I can help you with today?"

"No injuries today, just a visit."

Head jolting up, Virgil grinned slightly as the man immediately dropped everything that he was holding so that pieces of paper floated to the floor in a mess of a pile, completely ignoring them and tackling him into a hug. His arms were trapped at his sides and he just about managed to pull them out with a laugh so that he could embrace him back, rather than this being an entirely one sided reunion. Refusing to let go of him, he pushed his face into Virgil's shoulder and began mumbling hurriedly into the patched up fabric of his cloak.

"Hey, hey I can't hear you when you do that."

Virgil pulled away slightly, inch by inch, until he had managed to pry himself away and they were separate beings once more. He had forgotten how much he missed being around someone who wasn't either dead, paying him to stop someone being dead, or trying to make sure that he himself was dead.

"It has been way too long, do you know how worried I was getting? Virge, anything could of happened to you and I would have had no idea. You know the type of people who you work with sometimes, they don't care if you've got family or someone waiting to see if you're still alive, they'll get rid of you without any hesitation just for looking at them funny. Oh my goodness I'm just so glad to see you again!"

"I'm really sorry Pat, I should have had someone send you a message saying that I was alright. I've just been busy recently, and with the election of the new First Minister.."

Patton sighed, leaning up so that he could brush a piece of hair out of Virgil's face that had fallen in the way. Whilst he wasn't going to admit it, his pretending to be checking that he wasn't injured was really just to make sure that there was no new symbol, that the reason why he hadn't come over in so long was due to a reason besides being busy with work and not wanting to get caught. He'd let him stumble once before, and he sure as hell wasn't going to let him do the same thing again. Only when he was satisfied that there was nothing on him to show any form of loyalty, only when he had gone through every possible symbol that he knew of which could be used to show that he was now nothing more than a possession, only then did Patton readjust the cloak around Virgil's shoulders and brush away a few spots of dust that he had gotten from the journey.

"It's alright, I forgive you. Just don't worry me like that ever again, you hear? I may be a healer but that doesn't mean I can't be aggressively loving."

"Oh I really don't doubt that. You've been doing it for years already."

Growing up in the fifth province was difficult before, when they were younger and had over a decade's worth less of experience in survival. The fact that it had gotten worse only made people all the more on edge, especially when they were moving around with their child and had to make sure that both of them survived, alongside any other family which they had and paying debts that would need to be collected one way or another. But as generations went on, they became more aware of how they were going to make do. People became swifter. More convincing. Learnt how to manipulate their powers into a source of income when the gangs began to hold more power. When they were kids, very few knew what they did now, and so very few children actually managed to avoid the loving grasp of death.

The fault of this in a high amount of cases is down to the parents. Perhaps not intentionally, but a result of the parent's choices nonetheless. Which is why Patton and Virgil knew one another. They had been sort of friends before, living in one of the larger buildings that worked as a hotel, sets of rooms one next to the other that were technically owned by one of the gangs, but were rented out to anyone who was willing to pay for them and, when you took into consideration how little space there was anywhere half the time, anyone with some money jumped at the chance for their own place. Virgil and his parents had lived opposite where Patton was, the numbers on the door being a source of interest when he had first saw them, making him wonder how he could be in room 57 but Patton, on the other side of the hall, was in room 56 and they weren't next to one another. He'd bought it up with his parents before but never got an answer, although he couldn't remember what they had been busy with.

It had been this way since before he could remember anything and up until he was around 8, potentially 9, he wasn't quite sure, and seeing his friend going in and out of the room opposite on some occasions was as normal to him as his parents crying and pleading with some guy who arrived at their door, or the smell of iron and dried blood being washed out of clothing at least once a fortnight. How could you think its weird when you don't know anything different? Once, he had asked Patton whether he often saw his dad being threatened with a large knife or some person with glowing hands, and had been very confused to find out that he mostly just played piano and went to work, and that he was looked after by his older brother. Patton had got really sad when he'd asked where his parents were, so Virgil didn't bring it up again until they were much, much older.

But one day, when he was either the 8 or 9 that he couldn't remember exactly, Virgil could recall being sat in the centre of the hallway with Patton, a small blanket wrapped around his shoulders and the two of them examining a small, wooden figure that Patton's brother had found on the way back from work earlier on in the day. Not many people were out of their rooms by the time it was nightfall, so there was really only the two kids, cross-legged in the centre of the hall with the doors to their adjacent homes knocked open a little so that they could be seen. It had been quiet, only faint giggling and hushed talking from behind walls and locked doors slammed into their wooden frames. It had been quiet enough to hear when the front door to the building slammed open and two pairs of heavy boots made their way up the stairs.

Patton had pointed them out first, motioning towards where two people were nearing the floor that they were on, covered entirely in black clothing that was clearly provided by someone with wealth just by looking at how well it fit them and didn't have patched up holes as was typical for most people who you came across in normal life. Around their necks were chains, symbols that were only a blurred memory in the far corners of his mind. Their faces were muddled a little, features not quite certain and nothing more than a blank space where he knew that their identities should have been.

"Which room number do we have to go to again?"

"57. Remember, do whatever we need to do to get what is owed. We can't go back to boss with nothing in our hands unless you want him to get rid of us too."

"Do anything we need, got it."

Their eyes were scanning over the doors and the crumbling, painted numbers which were labelled onto each of them. Each step bought them closer and as they neared towards the children, Patton leant over and grabbed hold of Virgil's hand in comfort. Neither of them knew what was happening, but Patton had a feeling in his stomach that he couldn't budge that made him want to take his friend and hide them somewhere that neither of these people could reach him, somewhere safe.

Coming to a stop outside his house, the two figures double checked the number, noted the open door which remained ajar and slowly let their eyes drag down to the wide-eyed, terrified Virgil, hands clambering backwards as he wrapped his hands around Patton to keep himself rooted out here and away from whatever was going on up there.

"Pat," he whispered, not moving his stare from the people as they kicked the door the rest of the way open, yelling immediately making its way out into the hall, "I'm scared. What do they want with my parents?"

"I don't know V. Let's go to Emmy and ask him, he's older, he'll know."

Virgil nodded, reaching down to pick up the wooden figure and pulling himself up by using Patton as a source of balance. The voices from within his house were getting louder, and he could hear crying again, something which he was used to but which just seemed different this time around, it seemed like they were a lot more afraid of these people then he was, and that really had to be saying something. Their fear confused him a little. So often he would see them talking to someone similar and they would be laughing, acting as if nothing was wrong, and now they were so different that the scariest part of this whole thing was the difference Virgil could see in his parents. They weren't normal. Patton tugged on his arm, trying to get him to move from where he had frozen in place.

"Virge, the people are coming back out and they look angry. We need to go find Em now."

"Oy, kids! Which one of you two lives here?"

From behind the person, Virgil could see the other blocking the door and preventing his parents from getting through and running over to him. Watching as Patton was trying to pull him away, the figure let a slow grin spread over his mouth in a menacing fashion, an absolutely terrifying way that made him look like he had far too many teeth. Raising one hand, covered in various scars and burns and bruises, he pointed at Virgil.

"It's this one."

Before he even got the chance to react, Virgil was being prised out of Patton's grip, lifted off the ground by his neck and feet kicking around, wooden figurine dropping to the ground as he desperately tried to pry the fingers off of his skin. It hurt, gosh it hurt. He could hear people yelling around him, and Patton was crying loudly from somewhere behind him, but a soft ringing had started in his ears that was getting louder and no matter how hard he tried he couldn't focus on anything other than gasping for air and pushing with all his might against the hand that was getting tighter. Tighter. His chest was heaving, desperately searching for a source of oxygen. Why was his chest hurting so much? There was no way that he was strong enough to get away from this, but he sure as hell wasn't going to go down without a fight, body squirming around with the limited energy that he could muster; even as the edges of his vision were beginning to go black and dots appeared across his eyeline, he kicked when he could, scraping at the skin on his neck to get a grip underneath the fingers. Something to get it loose. Anything.

His body was swung around helplessly as the person turned to look at something, words being exchanged that were nothing more than a muddled mess of syllables and letters that Virgil didn't know how to comprehend. He wanted to kick again, because just maybe he could get in at the right angle that would make him let go, but his heart was pounding and his chest hurt so much and his head felt light, a weird sort of light, and his vision was so blurry and dimmed and the next thing he knew he was dropping to the floor, landing on the faded carpet and gasping in lungs full of air.

"We've got everything we need. Lucky kid. You won't always have someone to bail you out, so thank you parents for that little experience."

Virgil was curled into a ball by the side of the wall, his parents somewhere, he could hear them but couldn't hear them, and Patton appearing almost instantly at his side, telling him to take as many breaths as he could manage. He never asked about how much his parents had owed, he didn't want to know. Besides, it didn't matter. He never saw them again after that night.

Emile, Patton's older brother, had been the one to pay off the people, refusing to allow him to suffer for something that he had no control of, his parents. He had also insisted that Virgil stay over the night, just in case they came back, as they would look in his normal house and there was no chance of them finding Virgil if he wasn't there. The rest of the evening was blurry, he remembered drinking some water and Patton trying to cheer him up with the wooden figure, but he had passed out pretty early and whilst he was sleeping, tossing and turning and constantly checking that there was nothing stopping him from breathing, no hand clenched around his throat, his parents had packed up and ran. Or at least he found out from Emile when they went back to return him. So he became more than just their friend, the random kid over the hall who played with Patton sometimes, Emile adopted him and looked after him as if he had been there from the start, and Patton did his best to make sure that he never had to think about what happened again, sitting beside him when he woke up from nightmares always with an extra blanket and reassurances. They had loved him more than his parents probably ever had, and he had never truly paid back that debt.

"Yes, I have been aggressively loving you for years and I'm not going to stop now for a few missed visits. You're alright now which is what is important. Staying out of trouble I hope?"

"You know me Pat, when am I ever in trouble?"

Patton laughed, shaking his head. There really was no taming Virgil when he set his mind to something, and his mind was set on making as much money as he could to buy them all a place in a higher province. It was the least that he could offer after everything, and he really wasn't taking no for a response.

"How's Em been? It's been longer since I last saw him than it has since I last saw you."

"He got a new job in the third province as a cleaner. I told him that he could stay here with me if he wanted, but he refused to even consider it in case he was putting too much pressure onto me. You know what he's like when it comes to taking care of us."

"Don't I just."

Out the window you could see the sun just beginning to edge its way down behind the mass of concrete, throwing shadows all over the place and casting the few areas which were normally brightly lit into darkness, hiding it all from prying eyes. Night was dangerous, or at least it had always been dangerous down here. More people hid in the safety of their houses and rooms, kept away from the spots that were the most secluded from general society, only walked down the areas where flickering street lamps offered a vague shield of protection from whatever and who ever may be waiting for their prey just around the corner where the light didn't quite reach. Which is exactly why it was perfect for business. The more illegal, the better.

Sure, during the day you would still find a whole load of things going on which really shouldn't be and which would be a cause for multiple prison sentences for those who got caught, but the moment the sun decided that it didn't want to be seen anymore and ducked into safety, that was when the worst came out. Your occupation may not be judged in the fifth province, but your reputation certainly was, and the creatures that crawled out of hiding only after they could blend into the walls had some of the worst reputations possible to any human. These were the assassins, the ones who would kill anyone for some silver or food. The ones who traded themselves or others as a form of currency. Substances that could knock you out for days at a time being passed around circles of friends so that they could forget. Anything you could want, you would be able to find it.

Authorities only knew of the actions that took place during the day. They knew that things weren't exactly law abiding, that people walked around with powers prepared and weapons readied for attacks, that most occupations would have no papers to even tie them to what they did, never mind proving the legality of it. If only they knew the horrors that could be witnessed if you waited just a few minutes more and dared to brace the streets with nothing more than your wits and pale moonlight to direct you.

Taking note of the dark pink that now lined the clouds, Virgil double checked that his knife was stashed on the inside of his cloak, easily accessible, and looked back over at Patton. His host had begun trying to sort through his paperwork once more, glasses pushed right up to the top of his nose and finger tracing underneath the letters as he read them, trying to understand what it was that he was actually meant to put in each of the boxes. For someone who was self taught when it came to reading and writing, Patton was more capable then almost everyone who Virgil knew; and that was a lot of people. He had only learnt because of the papers he needed to fill out when guards did their spot checks, relying on a few books he had scavenged and a partly broken CD player he had bought really cheap several years ago. It was better than anything Virgil had attempted. As long as he could count money, he was fine.

"Hey, Pat." Grabbing his attention, Virgil leant his arm on the desk. "Would it be too much to ask if I could stay here for the night? It got dark a lot quicker than I thought and I don't wanna risk running into someone I'd rather not run in to."

"Of course you can! I'm not going to stop you, you're my brother for crying out loud." Not entirely true, but Virgil smiled nonetheless. "I take it you haven't eaten yet either? Don't worry, neither have I, but I have some bread and meat upstairs that I bought earlier so we can have that," on a roll, Patton scooped up the papers in one arm and grabbed hold of Virgil's wrist with the other, dragging them both up to the third floor, "now come on before my stomach complains about me abandoning it any more."

Barely a week into the position and Roman had already decided that having to sit at a desk and do a whole load of written work was going to be the death of him. Maybe he had been expecting to be doing public speeches every other day, walking around the state to let the citizens know that he valued them, even have to address an incident which happened in one of the lower provinces that was just important for him to say something about it. What he had definitely not been expecting was a pile the size of his forearm of notes and contracts and laws which he needed to read through and sort out by the weekend. He had already done about a third of what had been there to start with, and yet somehow the pile was either staying the exact same size or was magically getting taller. He knew that there was going to have been some administrative stuff which he needed to do, but this was getting ridiculous.

Pupils pulling themselves hopefully over to the clock that hung above the door, Roman realised that it was a lot later than he thought. He'd eaten earlier when Henry had bought some food to him, insisting that he kept himself healthy and maintained his nutrition so that he could remain First Minister without falling ill or losing his physique - that had probably been mentioned because of how often he had run around before and as such wasn't unfit in the slightest, but also Roman had concluded that Henry just had a way of giving you compliments at the exact moment you needed them. The longer the butler worked for him, the more Roman decided that he liked him. Not only was he very good at making tea and getting food to him on time, but he was charming whenever he had random visitors and knew exactly how to make them leave without argument when Roman wasn't up to having company. Roman could have sworn he read a book about a butler with powers when he was younger and the more he compared the two, the more he was convinced that Henry was just a real-life version of that same character.

Logan had also visited him several times since their first encounter after his election. Mostly it was professional, the two of them setting up plans on how to deal with issues and Logan proving what Roman had suspected from the start, that he had a much better grip on the politics of the state and Roman was just there for the visuals. That was why he had asked him to take the position in the first place, after all. Being the official state detective also had its perks apparently. On the few times that their conversations hadn't been about the state, Logan had been attempting to restrain his excitement as he spoke about his new found ability to access any information he needed to help solve a case, the issues he could now bypass which made everything significantly easier for him. Nothing was confidential, samples were tested within hours opposed to days, warrants were provided instantaneously. It was all that he could have ever asked for as a detective.

Besides these few instances, which were dotted across several days and mixed in with meetings he had with other politicians, nothing had happened that was worth noting. However, he had come up with a new name for most of the politicians who he did come in contact with: mimics. They were themselves for about a minute at the start, soon changing their behaviour and features to match whatever it was that he was portraying, lying through gritted teeth about how much they backed him and the fact that he had their unwavering support. Roman had never heard so much bullshit in such a small space of time.

Dropping his gaze from the clock, he spotted someone hovering in the doorway, body half hidden by the wall so that he could only see their back. It wasn't anyone he needed to be afraid of, he knew that from the uniform which he sported and yellow details on the shirt that had been designed to match his own, only changing the colour as to make it clear who was in charge. Had he really been stood there the entire day?

"Mr Dolo, I'm sure you're wanting to go home at some point today. I'll be fine by myself for the rest of the day. I don't plan on leaving this building and there are always guards posted outside whether its night or day, so you'll be alright to leave me alone for the evening."

"With all due respect sir, my job is to protect you and so I shall continue to do that until your work day has been completed."

Roman's pen tapped against the table in the steady rhythm of a song which had been stuck in his head for the past two hours. He hadn't spent much time talking to his bodyguard since Henry had bought him in on that day to meet him and Logan, only knowing his name and, according to the records which Henry had pulled up, that he had an impressive record that made him perfect for the position. He wasn't the chattiest of people, not that Roman was necessarily complaining as he more than enough reporters and opponents wanting to talk with him at any given time of the day, and yet he had such a presence about him that Roman had to admit to being a little scared whenever he gave him an order. It felt wrong, like it should be the other way around and it should be him following the orders.

Even though their relationship thus far had been entirely professional, with only minimal conversation and a very carefully selected, limited variation of phrases leaving his mouth, Roman had a small, secret and very well hidden part of him which did want to know more about this guy. Where had be worked before, what was his record? Did he have any family? What powers did he have, or did he even know what his power was? And the question which had been tugging at the edges of his mind for days now, what had happened which caused the one side of his face to have discoloured patches?

"Well with all due respect back to you Mr Dolo, I don't know how much longer I'll be working on this pile of papers and I don't want to be the cause of you barely getting any rest."

"In which case I don't know how much longer I will stay here protecting you. Sir, I appreciate that there are other guards but I wouldn't say that they're necessarily the most competent of people, and I refuse to leave your life in their hands."

Well this was new. Laughing at the sudden harshness of Janus' words and the general disgust that flowed off him at the mere mention of the guards stood by the entrance gates to the building, Roman was beginning to get curious again, a dangerous thing to be in the world of politics. He placed his pen onto the half finished file lay spread open in front of him - some law which kept trying to be passed and seemed to be on its third attempt through - Roman pushed himself up away from the desk, arms stretching behind him to rid his body of the stiffness which seemed to seeps its way into him more every second that he remained on that chair. Maybe Henry had been right when he had told him to take a walk every hour or so. Thinking about it, there was no maybe about it, Henry was right on everything. Definitely that powered butler he had read about. Knocking the light off on his way out, Roman ensured that the door to his office was swung closed and locked, sliding the key into his pocket before standing directly in front of Janus and folding his arms. He really was intimidating.

"I'm done for the day, I can't bear to look at one more piece of paper with more than a few words on it until I've gone to sleep and had a break. If I see even one more page of writing about how we should remove the guards from the lower provinces and place them into the upper ones, I will honestly resign. Fancy that, I become the shortest lived First Minister just because I got sick of paperwork." Roman gave a short chuckle. "Now, unless you have somewhere to be, I feel like I should get to know the guy who's in charge of making sure no one kills me, so this is my official invitation for you to join me for a drink for an hour or so. Also, I'm bored of being in my own company. I could use the conversation."

Janus seemed hesitant, flitting his gaze over his watch, back up to Roman and then across the entire length of the hall in which they were stood as if someone was going to appear out of nowhere and drag him away. It was interesting to watch him think. Logan glazed over when lost in thought or making decisions, seemingly shutting off from the world until he did so. Quite the opposite to this, Janus seemed now hyperaware of every thought that was going on in his head, shifting through each and every one.

"I'm not a man to pass up the opportunity for drinks when it is given."

A slight grin made its way onto Roman's face. "Wonderful! You probably know the way already, but follow me if you will, I have an excellent selection for you to choose from."

Both of them knew the way, having walked the halls any number of times to the point where neither really needed to think about where they were going and could easily rely on their muscle memory to direct them. The carpet was cleaned and adjusted daily, yet as he walked Roman could have sworn that he could see the old imprints of his shoes dug into the carpet, gone over the same stretch of hall so many times that he had worn his mark into the floors of it. Even when his fingers grazed against the walls with white wallpaper, gold markings etched into certain crevices to make swirling patterns that stood out against the rest of the decoration and seemed almost three dimensional when you looked at it from a difference, it felt as if there were now grooves where his fingertips rested. Every room was beautifully set up, only the finest furniture and decorations being used, as if he was royalty opposed to an elected official. It seemed too much at times, staring across from where he was sat to see a wall covered by a vintage mirror that would have cost probably three months of his wages to buy, looking at his reflection in it and knowing that the tackiness was all his now. He would get rid of that mirror at some point, it was far too gaudy for his liking.

When there were no cameras to snap a photo of him and the only person who could judge him was himself and Janus, Roman took the stairs to go up to the room he was thinking of. He still detested that glass elevator. One step into it and he already thought about the possibility of them hurtling to the floor at such as speed that they smashed upon impact. It was his sole purpose not to go in it unless he absolutely had to, and that was only when he had esteemed guests whom he actually greeted when they arrived, or when there were cameras still flashing their lights through the doors when they were swung wide open.

There were six floors in total. Double what he had grown up with, and each floor was about 50% larger than the floors from his family mansion. The first was where the workers stayed and did their jobs, a large marble floor being used as a greeting area for when he first arrived with all the rooms hidden off at the back behind the staircase. The second was dedicated to work. He had meeting rooms and offices, each numbered and different sizes, with his office right at the far end so that his one wall could be entirely glass and he could look out over at the state which it was now his goal to protect. The third was entertainment. Primarily for entertaining guests, but with a variety of lounges all decorated differently and entire walls decorated with bottles of some of the finest drinks money can buy, Roman was not ashamed to admit that he also went there when he needed to relax. It also had a room full of musical instruments which Roman desperately wished he knew how to play. The best he could manage was hitting a few keys on the piano and listening to the soft notes that floated out. The top three were for various personal things, his bedroom being on the fifth, most of the sixth being used for the scenery and as somewhere that he could sit down without being summoned, the fourth containing room for his clothes. Most of his time was spent on the lower three.

Foot hitting the floor as he arrived on the third floor, Roman spun on his heel to face the room just to the right of him and walked in. It was one of the lounges that he had, probably his favourite, being a lot smaller than the others and having decor that didn't make him want to rip it apart. The flowers which he had been secretly watering were doing alright, positioned by the doors and sprouting upwards towards the sun, a couple of dark red sofa's positioned around a coffee table and music player set in the corner that just switched onto a new song as soon as they walked in.

"What would you like?" He asked, walking over to the lines of bottles that were set neatly on a shelf. "We have, well, everything."

"I really shouldn't drink whilst I'm on duty sir."

"Please, I've said that I've finished my work and as such you've finished yours. Now, I'm having a gin and tonic so what can I get for you to drink? I insist."

"If you are sure sir then I'll have a doubly whiskey if you don't mind."

Hand hovering as he searched for the right bottles, Roman pulled them off the shelf and down onto the table in front of him, glasses clinking together when he picked them up from their piles and set them down. He had considered becoming a wine tester for a prestigious restaurant at one point, but he could barely tell the difference between different bottles and as soon as someone asked him if he felt like it was too 'dry' he had decided that it was definitely not the career path that he should be taking. How could wine be dry? It was a literal liquid. At least he had gotten over that idea pretty quickly without too much pain and trouble attempting to figure out if it was the path for him.

Pouring the two drinks, Roman closed the bottles and left them where he had placed them, holding one glass in each hand and walking over to the sofas where Janus had hesitantly sat down, gloved hands tapping against his leg and eyes constantly darting around. No matter where they were, he was always on edge about something. He offered the drink, Janus taking a moment to register what was happening before graciously accepting, raising the glass to his lips and allowing the liquid to slide down his throat.

"Thank you sir."

"You're off duty, you can stop with the sir. I get enough of that from Henry. When we're away from work it's Roman, and even if we are at work feel free to call me that as well it makes me feel weird when people call me sir. Like I should be a lot more important than I feel."

"Of course, Roman. I'm just used to the formality that is expected when I'm your bodyguard. I've never had to protect someone like you. You seem so against the old beliefs and ways that people in your position have followed for years and do what you wish, hardly caring for other people's opinions of you."

Roman raised an eyebrow, laughing softly into his drink as he drank some of it. "You're not one to mince your words, are you?"

"Oh," it was as if a sudden realisation had washed over Janus, what he was saying and who he was actually talking to suddenly dawning on him in a way that made him take several mental steps back into the position that he was meant to be in. He wasn't used to having to make sure that he stayed in line at every given moment. This was something new that he wasn't sure was going to end well if he didn't keep himself in check. "I meant no disrespect si- Roman."

"Absolutely none taken. It's refreshing to have someone talk to me like I'm an actual human rather than some god that they need to step around carefully." Bringing his glass back up again, Roman downed half of the contents in one go and leant forward to place the now half empty container onto the pine coffee table. Actually it was half full. Roman had found he was often more optimistic then most, which is perhaps why he had been expecting more from the election. Choosing half full over half empty was just something that he did automatically, to remind himself about the good still left within the world. "So, Janus, let me know something about you. Tell me information that would interest me."

Swirling the liquid, ice clanging loudly against the side of the glass, Janus stared over at Roman with a bemused expression. "What sort of things would you like to know?"

There was a window in this room, a large one, that spread across the vast majority of the far wall and provided as a way to look out over the back gardens. Looking out through it now, Roman could see the orange haze that only arrived as the sun went down, making everything look more whimsical, magical, in the precious moments before it set completely and plunged humanity into an endless, inky black. "Tell me everything."

Lights were flashing, multi-coloured and throwing various circles of red and green and yellow and blue onto the bustling crowd in the midst of talking about whatever they wanted, stages lit up with an extra white light right in the centre so that nobody forgot what it was that they were here to see. Waiters were dodging past performers in heels who were running from stage to stage to make sure that they were there in time before the next song played, placing trays of drinks down onto circular tables and accepting bags of coins and notes quickly pulled out of wallets that were slammed onto the table for them to take, swooping up any money they were offered into their pockets and heading back to where the bartenders were mixing cocktails with exotic names that few could pronounce and sliding glasses across the side to customers sat on stalls. At the side of the large room was a guy switching songs, acting as the DJ for the evening and scrolling through his options and selecting it to play as soon as the last one finished its final note, blasting out so loud that you could only hear what other were saying if they yelled or you were so used to it that your ears tuned in to only the person that was speaking, the only way any of the orders could be taken.

From the side rooms men and women and everyone in between were walking in or walking out, their appearance varying very much depending on which one it was. Private rooms, sealed off and each guarded by its own hired guard, only accessible by paying a performer an extra sum of cash and them accepting it, dedicated solely to those who were willing to complete these tasks for the additional coins which they got to take home. If a performer said no and didn't want to, then trying to pressure them would only result in security dragging you out, and it can be certain you would not make the same mistake twice. The owner respected those who worked for him, so going against his workers wishes was going against his own. And you really did not want to do that.

Bouncers were taking entrance fees at the front door, hidden down the side of an alleyway that you could only find if you knew where you were looking, taking entrance fees for those who wished to enter. Ten tin coins for those without a loyalty symbol, 15 for those with an opposing one and 5 for those who wore the double headed snake as a charm around their neck. The wonders of owing loyalty to the right person was that you could go into places which they own for much less than others, a privilege that you don't want to take advantage of in case you place one foot out of line and your body is nothing more than a useless sack on the ground, only adding to the filth which is there. People were coming in and out in streams, some a lot more discretely than others, not wanting to be seen at this place and some just flouncing in as regulars who couldn't care less about who saw them and what they thought.

Certain stages, certain acts, always attracted bigger crowds then others, it was all dependent on who the customers were made of mostly that night. A popular one was a girl who could teleport. She would be on her stage, dancing, singing attracting the crowd by disappearing and reappearing on the other side and then, when she had them all entranced and in her eyeline, she would disappear and position herself next to random people, accepting the tips that were flying around as she went from person to person, not caring really who it was as long as she could do her job and get paid for it.

The other one that was most popular was a guy, also a dancer, one of the most confident when it came to moving around in heels and always sporting fishnets that ran up his legs without a care in the world. His outfit changed each night, but the one thing that made him so recognisable when people came in to see him was the green, bright green, that was always covering him just enough for imaginations to run wild, the green which had been specifically dedicated to him and which the owner refused to allow any other performers wear in case it made customers confused about where he was. Apart from the fact that he was surprisingly good at dancing in heels, the thing that attracted people to him was his ability to shapeshift.

It isn't obvious when it happens, just small changes here and there. If he sees someone, he knows what they will like most, leaving his stage to go dance by them and changing as he went, lightening his darker skin if felt it necessary, altering his face shape, the shape of his body, hair colour or length and even down to eye colour, all because he knew that if he was as perfect for that one person as he could be, then he would get the most tips. He always did. It was like a hand tailored experience as long as you paid him for the service. 

The song coming to a steady stop and switching onto the next, the man blew a kiss towards the crowd, winking and walking off so that his boots clicked against the hard floor, another performer nodding towards him as they took his place. Water elemental, another one that was pretty popular.

Around the back of all the stages was where the performers stayed when they were getting ready or changing outfits or having a rest, mirrors with lights surrounding them drilled into the walls, table tops littered with makeup of every kind and outfits thrown over the backs of chairs. As he walked in some were lounged on the sofa drinking, some were readjusting lipstick or sorting out their hairstyle, a guy helping another performer put on a pair of knee high boots which were too tight fitting for them to put on alone. Walking over to the table where half finished glasses of who knows what were left, he picked one up and downed it instantly, turning towards the nearest girl to him and pointing with a sharpened nail.

"Hey Aimee, is the boss in?"

"Just got here. Said he was 'eld up with something but wouldn't tell me anything, see if ya get any more out of him then we did."

Aimee was also one of the ones who seemed to attract attention when she was on stage, being also one of the only other performers he could handle. Everyone else either couldn't care less or was so cocky that it was unbearable, and as ironic as that was considering how often he said that he was amazing, no one else could match his energy like Aimee, so he basically relied on her to catch him up on things. She was also pretty useful when he needed something on the other side of the room, telekinesis and all that.

"Awesome. I'll update you when I find out what's up."

"Good luck with that babes."

Grinning, he turned away from her and pushed his way through the groups of performers towards a little office that sat behind a metal door, a misted piece of glass being the only way to see inside an whether anyone was actually there. He knocked on the door. No response. Coughing, he knocked again only this time he just kept knocking.

"Who is it and what do you want?"

"It's me you idiot, now give me permission to come in before I kick down this door."

"Fine, come in. Do not break down this door or I will be taking it out of your next pay cheque you better believe that."

The door was already unlocked, swinging open easily as he pushed against it and walked in. The office wasn't overly big, there was no need when he only really checked in and spent a lot of his time elsewhere. A desk, a large chair, three different safes all placed into the wall and double locked so that it was basically impossible to steal anything from them. Another, smaller, chair on the other side of the desk and a golden statue sat of a shelf, a snake twirling and twisting its way up a staff only for the iconic two heads to emerge at the end. He had never really understood the obsession with snakes, but it was not his place to ask.

Ignoring the chair entirely, he walked over and perched himself on the end of the desk, leaning backwards of his hands and grinning as he raked his eyes over the man sat in front of him. "You came back late Jan, that's not normal of you. Got changed though from your uniform I see. Rough day or something?"

"I couldn't leave until an hour ago because he wanted to talk to me for some obscure reason, and then I had to go from the first province back down to here, get out of that awful uniform and get down here, so this is as early as I could make it. And for goodness sake Remus, stop sitting on my desk when there is a perfectly good chair directly in front of you to use. That is what chairs are for after all."

"Now where's the fun in that?" Heels kicking into the air, Remus spun around where he was sat, one leg crossing over the other, hand reaching out to pick up the golden staff that had been rested against the wall. It was an interesting thing to observe, but Remus just enjoyed spinning it around and stabbing it into the ground as if it was going directly into the beating heart and flesh of an enemy he especially detested. A violent thought, granted, but when he made him grin and his eyes flash with a flame he could never otherwise conjure, he wasn't about to complain about his own thoughts. "I take it its going well then."

"At the least he's willing to talk to me. Thought it was going to take a lot more effort, but he's different to the other ones before him. Younger. Definitely more naïve and trusting. He even offered me a drink earlier, insisted on it. Most interesting."

"Sounds like Roman alright." Remus couldn't help it as a snarl creeped its way into his voice, face contouring into a look of disgust and hatred as he was forced to spit out the name like hot coals. "Always the loved one who wanted everyone to see him as perfect. Never could shake that image, no matter how badly he fucked up. I wonder how the rumours are holding up surrounding me, 'cause last I heard I had left the family after he had set me on fire one day when he lost his temper."

Janus turned over a piece of paper, scribbling his signature quickly at the bottom of it and placing it on the other side of his desk. "Oh, that is very much still the case. He's also elected that Logan Captiosus as Head of State."

"Logan Captiosus. Now that's a name I haven't heard in a long time. I didn't realise that they were still friends if I'm being honest with you Jan, thought that by now they would have split apart or something or maybe they'd have fucked by now. But now he's been positioned as Head of State? Roman really has no clue what he's doing." Remus sighed, pausing for a second as he gazed around the room. "So Jan, does this change anything?"

He didn't get a reply at first, Janus continuing to write his signature on a few more cheques and putting them neatly into a pile, pen releasing the ink effortlessly as it was designed to do. When he finished the last one, the pen was set down, fingers reaching out covered in yellow gloves to snatch the cane from where Remus had been twirling it like a baton, using it to push himself up. His cloak floated up around him, black silk, gently coming to a rest just above the floor like it had been specifically crafted to do. The cane tapped, tapped, tapped against the cold, stone floor, Janus walking around and grabbing the cheques from where he had laid them, paper smoothly sliding under his skin and slipping out of his grasp as he let them go into a chute that took them down to a mail room where they would be delivered. Smirking as the final piece of white floated out of his vision, Janus shook his head and turned to look at Remus.

"This changes nothing."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw//  
> Violence, injury imagery, implied prostitution, implied non-consensual and sexual language
> 
> Hope you enjoy and please stay safe

Within the first couple of weeks or so of being elected, Roman knew he didn't have to worry about anyone trying to take him out. There was increased security and every camera of every paper was there, stood by his steps and at every announcement and at every meeting, so no matter what it was that someone attempted, there would always be evidence from one snapshot or another. It was also mandatory that he walked around with four guards at any given time, two in front and two behind, like a weird square where he was the centre. If he had any choice on the matter he would have got rid of them after the first week. They made him feel weak, like he had no control of his own people and that he needed to be protected from those he was meant to be protecting himself, the whole purpose of his job. But politicians knew about the hatred towards the First Minister from the lower provinces and experience from times before knew that if someone would strike at him, it was most likely to be within that initial fortnight of being in power, and as such he was forced to feel humiliated and constantly be surrounded by the square of guards.

The second those two weeks were up, Roman dismissed each of the guards with a bonus sum of cash for their time, a letter thanking them for their service and shut the door to his office with such a sigh of relief that the only other person with him at the time couldn't help but let out a small snigger from the corner. As the bodyguard which Roman had chosen, Janus had been the only one who was allowed to be in the same room as him alone when he was in the office or going into a meeting room that was too small to accommodate the significant levels of security that would normally have been there, and the longer that they spent together hiding away from the bustle of regular society and needless media speculation and rumours that continuously popped up about Roman's past, the most Roman established that Janus wasn't as stuck up as he had maybe appeared to be at first.

"Oh shut it. I couldn't stand any of them." Roman muttered, leaning against the door and listening as the footsteps of the four guards grew quieter down the hallway, the murmuring only just appearing before they rounded the corner. "They wouldn't talk to me and every time I tried to make a joke they just stared into a void that was always in front of them for some reason."

"Maybe you're just not funny."

"Watch it, I can still fire you, you know. Just because I've grown to like you it doesn't mean that you have to remain as my bodyguard. There are plenty of other candidates."

Janus snorted a little from the position he had been in, body leant against the corner of the wall and arms folded over his chest, a position that looked like it was casual and potentially uncaring but in reality allowed him to look over both the door and the window to the side of them and meant that he could run forward in less than a second if he needed to. "Of course, sir. I am simply suggesting that you should consider the possibility that you aren't actually that funny. As someone who's been probably closest to you compared to anyone else for the last two weeks, may I respectfully say that you should be glad you did not go down the comedic route."

Giving a fake gasp of surprise and annoyance, Roman pushed off the door and walked around his desk so that he could look at the piles of papers that still lay there after all the time that he had spent going through them. Days of doing nothing more than sitting until past midnight just to fill out gods know what had begun to take its toll on him if he was going to be honest, bags under his eyes appearing where he didn't want them and the general fatigue of everything which he had been forced to complete so quickly slowing down his movements and making the world just seem that bit too fast to keep up with. Despite always staying with him through all the time that he had been in the office, Janus never seemed to falter. It was amazing to watch at times. Knowing that both of them had slept for the same amount of time, Janus potentially even less due to having to go back to his house where ever that was, and still he had never seen him look anything less than alert and ready to protect him at all costs, no coffee cups, nothing that suggested that he was relying on caffeine in the same way that Roman did in order to stay awake. He had asked him about it before, asked if he had some sort of power that meant he didn't need to sleep the same amount of time, but Janus had just shrugged and laughed, saying that he was simply used to not sleeping much and so his body had gotten used to living off a limited amount of sleep.

With a final, defeated look over the mess of a desk which he had, Roman slumped into his chair and rubbed the bridge of his nose between his fingers. If even one person tried to tell him that being First Minister was probably really easy and extremely exciting then he would glare daggers into their stupidity and tell them that, if they wanted to do the paperwork for him so that he could focus on more important things such as actually reforming the lower provinces, then they could happily be his guest because he was ready to burn every scrap of paper that somebody handed to him from now on. The sooner he finished this, the sooner he could do things that he actually wanted.

"I take it you didn't sleep that well that night sir? I could get Henry to bring you some coffee?"

"I'll be fine, I just need to make sure that I get this done by the end of the week else you'll also be stuck here over the weekend and I haven't had a day off since I started this whole mess." Shuffling through his pot to find a pen, Roman clicked it a could of times to check it opened, scribbling on a scrap piece of paper to check that it was one that hadn't run out of ink yet before tucking it behind his ear. "And I swear I've told you a million times to call me Roman rather than sir. It feels weird. We're probably about the same age and you're acting as if I'm wiser then you."

"Its formality, something that you may not be used to but which really makes my life significantly easier. I'm pretty certain you're not meant to become friends with the person who is literally putting their life on the line for you."

Roman barely responded, muttering some small reply under his breath as his eyes scanned over this new sheet of paper. It was a complaint from some wealthy business owner in the top section of the second province; apparently one of her stores had been broken into a few nights ago by people that looked to belong to the fifth province according to their clothing descriptions that was caught on security cameras and hundreds of gold coins worth of electronics and merchandise had been stolen. This was the eleventh incident similar to this in the last week alone, but this was probably the one that had cost the most. Usually it was refined to maximum the third province, and even then it was only the smaller buildings which were on the edge of the border that were targeted. It appeared as if the thieves were getting more adventurous, more advanced in their attacks. By the looks of the sheets underneath this one, there had been multiple attacks in one night which made things a whole lot more difficult for them to figure out whether they were all connected to one group or if they were working individually and happened to chose the same time to do it. It was unlikely, of course, but the possibility was still there.

It wasn't that he didn't want to compensate those who had been caught up in this, but he really wished he could focus his attention on stopping it and putting laws in place that would mean that incidents like this were less likely to happen again, rather than writing out condolences and cheques of money to help them get by without the money that they had lost. On the same topic, he had already made one public announcement a couple of days ago talking about it. It had been the biggest one, mostly because it was the first one that he had organised himself for the sake of society, so everyone who heard about it had either forced their way into the over-cramped conference room or tuned their television sets to the right setting just to sit in front of the glitching screen and find out at least some information about the man now running the state. And it had been frankly terrifying. 

Considering how used to performing he was, how many times he had used to fight to be the main character and have all eyes on him, how he had actively decided for a long time that he wanted to be the centre of attention for everyone, to suddenly be thrown into such a high up position and make his opinion known to all of the state, it was new. It was like doing his first theatrical performance repeatedly with every critic there to watch him. Except when you were in his position, everyone was a critic. Why was politics so ruthless?

He had prepared his speech beforehand, cards with carefully written words and perfectly crafted sentences lining his palms as he walked up to the main podium for the first time, a variety of microphones positioned in front of him so that he could be heard easily. It was a metal podium, a small step up to the pedestal on which he could rest his notes without having to hold them. Within seconds of him walking out from behind the curtain that cornered off the area where the public was allowed and the preparation area, cameras were flashing, soft murmurs were rising, notes being scribbled on his outfit, his visual presentation, the notes that he held in his hands that they would analyse the hell out of. Any movement or noise was going to be written about and recorded. If he was going to make a guess, those at the back had some sort of power which meant that they could see or hear really well so had no need to be as close as the others. It took advantage of what they had, meant that they weren't at the same disadvantage of those who were sat right at the front.

"I would like to welcome you all to this announcement today," he had begun, coughing once to clear his throat, eyes darting over the crowd as if he was speaking to each of them individually. "As you are most probably aware, there has been a sudden spike in the number of theft incidents in the higher provinces, all of which are believed to have been conducted by members of the fifth province. I can assure you all that, as your First Minister and a fellow citizen of this state, I will not allow this needless, selfish behaviour to continue. I have already begun to put in place more security surrounding the borders between the fourth and the third province, and anybody who has been affected by these incidents need only put in a complaint to my office and we will compensate you for the losses that you have experienced. These petty thieves will not get away with the disruption and problems that they have caused to the state, to their own homes, to the place that has provided them sanctuary. I will now hand over to the Official State Detective and Chief of State, Logan Captiosus, who will explain in more detail what the police are doing in their efforts of catching these criminals."

Of course, after all was said and done, there were questions. Hands firing up into the air like small rockets, reaching for an empty position where they could be seen and as such they could be chosen to stand above the rest, raise their voice and test the knowledge that he had on the matter. Some just wanted to know about the programme for stopping the thefts, but some deliberately pushed the limits, delving into personal questions about his own capabilities to stop them if he couldn't even stop himself. He managed to dodge each one that could ruin his reputation, but the question was there, hanging in the air, a lack of complete answers only causing people to wonder more and more who it was that they had elected.

"Roman, sir, are you alright?"

Roman hadn't noticed when his fingers lost their grip on the pen and it fell, clattering to the desk and swiping a black mark on the side of the piece of paper where it wasn't wanted. His mind had wandered so far back into the speech he had made that he had been staring at the same word on the page for the last five minutes and looked like he was about to pass out from sheer exhaustion; although, if he was being honest, any sleep would be appreciated right about now no matter where it was.

World around him refocusing, Roman blinked as the light suddenly shot itself into the back of his eyes and he was forced to squint in order to not be blinded, despite being usually so used to the hanging bulbs which were placed above him so that everything was visible. There was the complaint sat in front of him still, the one which he had been reading before his imagination had gotten out of hand. His pen was now on the desk rather then in his hands. Janus had moved from his position by the wall and instead stood directly in front of him, clearly concerned, face contorted into confusion with his brow pushed down to narrow his eyes and body leant forward just in case he needed to stop Roman from falling.

"Are you alright?" Janus repeated whilst Roman pushed fallen hair out of his eyes. "You completely stopped moving and didn't respond when I called to you. If its not overstepping my boundaries, I really do think that you need to sleep, your health is not being helped and this could potentially be something serious."

"I'll sleep later, I don't have the time right now."

"Roman, please. If you are going to be First Minister then I need to be able to protect someone who is actually alive and healthy. What if this was during a meeting with other politicians, or during a public announcement, or even in the centre of a press conference? Take a break and everything will be alright, the state isn't going to collapse because you decided to take a half an hour nap away from it all."

Papers moving around, pen shoved back into the pot which it came from, mind still hazy from what had happened but soon becoming clearer the longer he spent thinking about how much he had to do. "I have work to do. I know that I need to take care of my health, I do else I wouldn't be anywhere near as gorgeous as you know I am, but this is my priority right now Janus. As soon as this is all finished with I will take a break so that you're happy and I don't pass out again, but I need to get this done."

"Roman for the love of-"

"Sir?" There was a soft knocking from the door. Henry's face appeared around the side of the wood, looking between the two of them for just a second before immediately returning to look at Roman. It wasn't his place to judge. "You have your Chief of State here to talk to you."

In all the bustle and commotion, Roman had forgotten entirely about the fact that Logan was meant to be due today. It was rare that they got to talk to each other for more than a few minutes, so he had invited him over so that they could talk for a bit without cameras watching them or having to make a statement or generally having people ready to whisper gossip to the nearest reporter who wanted to take it. Besides, even if someone was stood outside the entrance and they had seen him enter the building, it very well could be that they just had formal business to attend to rather then them just being friends who want to catch up without having people try and figure out what it could mean that they were in the same place for an hour or so. If there was one thing that was worse than rumours about his past with his brother, it was rumours about his present with Logan. The media licked anything up like they were starving, taking any meeting out of context, the slightest laugh at an inside joke and they were slapping a headline about how they were secretly together and as such there was no way that either of them were being professional in their decisions.

Nodding at Henry to bring him in, Roman pushed himself up from the chair. He wasn't sure what people were expecting if he was going to be honest. Maybe he was meant to have some sort of big secret that would ruin everything that they needed to discover, or maybe he was meant to have a hidden relationship, or maybe he was just meant to have at least one thing that was interesting about him that they could latch onto and drain to the fullest extent. However, he didn't hide anything. He never had. It just seemed that people didn't notice things as much as he thought they should.

"Janus," he said, leaning in towards him as the footsteps drew closer towards his office, "I appreciate your concern, I really do. I'll try and prioritise my health from now on so you're not protecting a walking corpse."

"Understood." Grinning, Janus adjusted the yellow sash around his body that matched Roman's style but with a different colour to show that he was the bodyguard. "I take it you'll want some privacy then, seeing as it's been a while since the two of you have last talked properly."

"It would be appreciated."

"I'll talk to you later then, sir." Janus walked over to the door, waiting by the entrance and giving a nod of greeting to Logan when he entered, slipping through the gap and positioning him outside the door just as it closed. If anyone came by and asked if Roman was available then he would reply quickly, saying no and that he's in an important meeting. If he said anything else, or even gave a hint of the fact that Roman wasn't actually doing proper work, then they would walk in regardless and demand to speak to him, something which not only disturbed their catch up, but would put a significant safety risk onto Roman. Like hell was he risking it.

A polite nod in return from Logan, he waited until the tea was pushed in on a tray by Henry and the door was closed behind him before letting himself breathe deeply once again and smile at Roman. It really had been too long. The last time he had even seen him was at the public announcement about the thefts a couple of days ago; since then Roman had clearly been weighed down by complaints if the disorganised desk was anything to go by, and Logan had been using his new ability to access any information and resources that he needed to discover anything about the incidents, determining if there was a link, finding eyewitness accounts in case there was a face happened to be seen, or even just one feature that they could draw on. So far, nothing. There was no way that all the incidents were individually done, but there was no link between any of them and with no idea who it was that actually committed them, all they knew was that they were most likely from the fifth province. Which didn't narrow it down at all.

On top of all that, Roman looked exhausted. He had ended up taking a coffee off Henry, downing it in less than twenty seconds and he seriously looked as if he needed to sleep for a solid twelve hours. His movements were lagged as well, as if his brain registered what it was that he needed to do to move or speak but it took a few seconds to actually move and do it, instead of it being instantaneous as it normally would be when he was awake and aware. All that Logan needed to do was look at him and he could tell that he had barely had a break since they last spoke, and its debateable if he slept for more than a few hours in that time as well. As an advocate for ideal sleep time and having a proper schedule, Logan found his inability to prioritise rather worrying and unusual, although he had been drilled into going to sleep and waking up at the same time every day for his entire childhood so that definitely was a factor.

"You haven't been sleeping." Sipping from his cup, Logan tried to take in what else it was that he could observe without having Roman admit it directly to him. He had become a detective for a reason, after all.

"I've had a lot of work to do. Please don't lecture me, I've already had Janus on my back about it. He was talking about how he didn't want to protect someone who was going to end up dying from exhaustion sooner rather than later."

"He has a valid point, Roman. Health is important."

Roman waved a hand to get him to be quiet, massaging the side of his temple where he could feel the beginning of a headache swelling up under the skin. Not the time. "I'll sleep later so that both of you don't team up and force me to take a nap. Now," satisfied that the headache was held off for a while, Roman looked up at Logan and smiled, "I didn't invite you to talk about my sleeping habits now did I? Grab a seat, we really need to have a catch up on things that have happened recently."

Virgil didn't like being in places that he wasn't familiar with, and this winding alleyway bustling with faces he didn't recognise and people going in and out of buildings as if it was their every day life, was unfamiliar with him. The only reason he had even agreed to meet here was because it had been the only way to get the buyer to meet him face to face, just as a reassurance that he wasn't being lied to and that he would actually get the money that he was owed, apparently because they didn't want to meet somewhere public out of fear for their safety. Most likely bullshit. Everyone feared for their safety around the black market, Virgil no different, but he had been willing to take the chance and yet this guy couldn't be bothered and wanted to meet down a back alley near the burlesque club? The chances of this being all just the chance for a scam were high, so he had come prepared. Several knives hidden in various places, one in the pocket on the inside of his cloak, another three around his belt, and some rope, hooked to the back of shoulder just in case he needed to restrain him somehow. The one thing that he hadn't been able to figure out was what powers he had, so he had to be careful.

The only saving grace, if it could be classed as such, was the constant stream of people going in and out of the club. Men, women, all or none, some groups giggling to each other after clearly having a few too many too drink before even entering the place, fumbling through bags and pouches full of coins in order to find entrance fees and dropping coins into the meaty hands of the two guards that stood on either side of the door. At one point whilst he was waiting, as Virgil hated being late and so had arrived half an hour earlier than agreed, a man was dragged out of the club. He was kicking and screaming, apologising, saying that he didn't know that the dancer was trying to get away from him and was one of the ones who wouldn't do back room jobs. He was pleading. Other patrons stopped, pointed, whispered about how apparently he had been trying to force one of the dancers to do something for him for extra cash even though they were only comfortable being a dancer. Grave mistake.

He had been dragged around the corner opposite of Virgil, thrown into an empty space where he couldn't be seen by even those with the sharpest of eyes, and next thing any of them knew there was a bright flash of light that appeared and disappeared within seconds. Needless to say, only the guards came back out, wiping blood off their uniforms as if nothing had happened. One gave Virgil a side glance as they walked back towards the entrance, forefinger rubbing a blob of red of his cheek as he went, smearing the iron-tinged liquid across his skin so that it resembled war paint, as if they had just come back from a battle that they had won. Virgil supposed they had, though.

For the most part, the time he spent waiting was done with no issues beyond that one. There was a reason he had stopped further down, away from the actual entrance and out of any form of direct light. This was territory that belonged to someone he didn't talk to for a reason, so being recognised and noticed would almost definitely draw him out like Virgil was some sort of bait, a mouse, drawing out the snake from his hiding place to come and set up some sort of deal like he had been so desperately trying to achieve for, well, beyond months at this point, years of his life spent dodging those with snake pendants just in case they had been sent by the boss to bring him in and 'persuade' him to work for their gang. Wasn't going to happen. They had already crossed that bridge a long time ago, and he had not worked so hard and for so long to maintain his own freedom away from him just to have it taken away in an instant for the promise of some coins and to not be killed, especially when he had been able to provide himself with both of them for long enough. It wasn't a part of his past that he talked about. He knew it worried Patton, the poor guy constantly scared to death that he would go back or have a different gang grab him for a ransom. Not that it was unknown that the bastard was still grappling at nothing to try and get him to change his mind. He was a celebrity of sorts in that sense, but if Virgil could change that in any way than like hell would he pass up the opportunity to just be left alone for once.

"You've got it?"

Looking up from where he had been staring at the people going into the club, counting them, Virgil took the guy in. He had his symbol of loyalty, although it wasn't what he had expected when he heard about where they were meeting. There was a black spider tattooed onto his neck, appearing to crawl across the skin in short steps, getting closer and closer to being alive the more that Virgil stared at it. He hated that particular tattoo. If there weren't the gang connotations, he would have considered getting it, but sure enough that had been ruined for him.

"Depends. Have you got my money? I almost got caught by authorities trying to get this, so I need it to be worth my time."

The guy grumbled, head jolting over his shoulder as he looked back and forth between his pockets, fumbling to find the money, eyes glancing back again to check that no one was coming after him. He really did have no faith in Virgil's legitimacy. Fingers finally grasping the cloth, tied at the top with a loose piece of string, he threw it at Virgil.

"There. Twelve silver and twenty bronze like we agreed."

Virgil paused for a moment, weighing the package in his hands. It felt heavy enough. It would definitely be around the correct size.

"All in there?"

"All of it. Now, can I have it?"

This guy was desperate to get away. Normally, Virgil would have thought that it was normal considering that he was in enemy territory and was making a deal that could land both of them with very long prison sentences if they were caught. But this seemed different. His eyes were staring between the bag in Virgil's hand and over his shoulder. There was only way out of this alleyway, the way back that they had come, and with the groups of people who were there that could act as some sort of cover, it didn't take long to put two and two together. He was planning his escape. Chuckling softly, Virgil threw the package of coins into the air and caught it in his free hand, carefully pulling at the string so that the cloth would fall open.

"Wait, what.. what are you doing? It's all there I just told you. Now give me the item, I have someone I need to sell it to who's expecting it in less than an hour."

"Now, now," Virgil tutted, taking his time untying the knot, "I can't just hand over something so valuable without checking that I'm getting exactly what I'm owed, now can I? Surely you must know that, seeing as you're selling it on to someone else. A man of my business must know that I must check."

"Well yes I suppose, but really there's no need to do that-"

As he undid the last section of the knot, the string came up in his fingers and the cloth fell open on his palm. Twelve silver and twenty bronze his ass. There were coins all right, but they were absolutely worthless. Made out of pieces of stone so that they held the same shape and weight, but otherwise there was absolutely no use to them besides dwindling Virgil out of the money that he was so rightfully owed. Staring at the stone that now sat, revealed in Virgil's hand, the man began to back track, words stuttering over each other and body retreating backwards towards where there were people. How naïve was he? These people weren't going to help him. First of all, no one liked a cheat so Virgil would just have to show the packet of useless stone that he now held and the entire alleyway would go up in a riot. Secondly, this wasn't his territory. If Virgil decided that he wanted to get equal with him and just stabbed him right outside of the club, they'd all have one look at the tattoo on his neck and look the other way. This wasn't their place to try and stop him. It was for those reasons that Virgil decided that this was the first time this guy had tried something like this, tried to cheat someone out of money by giving them fake coins, else he would have known that he would check that he was given the exact amount, no less. Hand curling into a fist around the stones, Virgil quickly tied the cloth back up into its little parcel, walked forward and pushed it directly into the guys chest.

"Look, I'm not stupid and I doubt you are either when you take two seconds to think about things. You're not getting it. I have other people who would pay me actual money for the efforts I took, so go on your way and don't you dare cast a shadow on my doorstep ever again else I won't hesitate to get rid of you."

"But my buyer, if they think I lied to them-"

"Tough luck kid. You should of thought of that before you tried to mess me over. Now run along. None of these people are gonna blink twice if a corpse suddenly appears, and I just had this cloak cleaned so I really don't want to get it dirty again for the likes of you. Better luck next time though, I hope you find someone else who's a lot more gullible. As long as you're alive for that to happen."

Quickly grasping onto the cloth package, the man stared at Virgil for a seconds before turning and taking off, feet pounding against the streets and body swivelling to avoid the swarms of people that were now staring at him in some amazement as he ran past, half expecting someone to be chasing him but instead finding Virgil leant against the wall, a light chuckle being the only indication that he was aware anything had happened. He would never have actually killed the guy, it was just a threat, but threats worked better than actions sometimes and if he didn't need to get blood on his hands then he wouldn't. Plus this guy was as good as dead anyway. He seemed terrified of the thought of the other buyer thinking that he had lied to them, so Virgil's guess was that it was either a gang leader or someone with a lot of power who was close to a gang leader, someone known for being ruthless and uncaring who would simply need to snap their fingers and your body would become nothing more than a floor decoration in their recreational room, a rug if you will. Poor guy. Should have just given Virgil the money and then they wouldn't of had any problems, but now Virgil still had a stolen item he needed to get rid of and the man had a date with death coming up very soon.

Patting the inside of his pocket, Virgil smiled at the gold necklace that was placed within it. "Not this time, but you'll have a new home eventually." He'd gotten it over a week ago, having raided one of the houses in the second province at the same time that he knew one of the gangs was planning to target a set of companies, that way if they figured out which group had set it all up, his theft would be assumed to be with them as well and they would target them rather then looking for him. It was perfect. He'd already gotten rid of the rest of the spoils and made a tidy income from it, but for some reason he hadn't been able to get this necklace to shift no matter how hard he tried. It wasn't as if he was overpricing, if anything solid gold jewellery should be priced at much higher than he had it at, but no one seemed interested. He had to get rid of it and soon so that all connections with the break in couldn't be traced back to him.

The alleyway had seemed to calm down a bit, no longer as loud and as bustling with talk as it had been when Virgil had first arrived. To be honest, it was late at night so he wasn't surprised, but considering that it was around 1am, there were still a significant amount of people only just arriving to the club, and very few stumbling out to make their way back home as if they had never been to this place to begin with. It sort of disgusted him. Not the people or the club itself, just the thought of the place. Experiences never did really leave you. He didn't care who went in or out, who worked there and made their money, he only cared about never stepping foot in that forsaken place ever again and never having to look at the walls of the back rooms or having to walk onto a stage and perform for people who would leer and stare like he just a piece of meat, shove money at him for things he didn't want to do, just so that he could earn a living and not starve to death from having no way of buying food. If he thought carefully he could probably remember the names of most of the performers, although the newer ones would be unfamiliar in his mind. Most of them were probably still there. Most of them actually enjoyed it, found it was a good way to release energy and they couldn't care less what people thought. Most of them could leave any time that they needed, if they got a new job. But for some reason they chose to stay there, where the drinks were free and the customers were flowing and the money kept rolling in.

A shiver ran through Virgil's body at the thought. Gods, he hated it here. Pulling the hood of his cloak up over his head, Virgil readjusted it around the front so that it wasn't flapping open and began to walk towards the end of the back street so that he could go home. He needed to get somewhere safer, and the best place for that was his house.

"Oh Virgie, are you going to come by and then just leave without saying goodbye? I'm heartbroken."

Leant against the wall outside the side of the entrance, the silhouette grinned, teeth glinting and reflecting the brightness of the neon lights, heels clicking against the ground as he pushed himself forward and walked over to where Virgil had frozen still. He really hadn't changed. Still flaunting everything as if it was public property. Still walking around in heels so ridiculously high that you'd think he should be falling over rather than sauntering with no problem. Still in the green, why the hell was it always green? He had a cigarette between his fingers, tapping the end a couple of times, ash falling off the end and floating as burning embers to the concrete where they sputtered out of existence and turned to grey mush on the ground.

"Look at you, so wrapped up. Couldn't you give us something to work with here? I've got nothing to get horny over."

"Of course you're still here Remus."

Chuckling, Remus put his fingers back up to his lips, inhaling some of the cigarette, Virgil watching as the burning end retreated more and more towards the coloured nails of the hand that held it. Satisfied, Remus tilted his head upwards and allowed the smoke to pool into the air around them in rings. The smell made Virgil feel sick all over again. "Now, whatever do you mean by that?"

"You always were one to stay where you could get money by strutting around in almost nothing." He knew that Remus would want him to take the cloak off, or at least pull the hood down, just to see what he looked like now, but he wasn't going to give him the chance. "And I didn't come here to see you or your little boss. I had a deal to sort out and the guy wanted to meet down here, so now if you don't mind I'm going to leave so I never have to look at your face again."

"Hey, what's wrong with my face!" A quick hop and Remus was in front of Virgil. He leant his elbow against the wall, blocking the path entirely with his feet stuck out in the other direction to trip him up if he tried going that way. "I'll have you know that this face is the cause of many people reaching their climax for the first time. It's my speciality. I could show you if you'd like." Leaning in closer towards him, Virgil ducked down, managing to slip through the space underneath Remus' arm, holding his breath in order to avoid inhaling any more of the smoke then he had to. He didn't care how long it took for him to get through, he wasn't going to stay here for any longer than he needed to and considering that he had already finished the deal and the guy had left, there was no reason for him to be here any more. Certainly not to talk to Remus. It seemed, however, that Remus was offended at him just dipping under him to get away, pivoting on one of his heels to face the opposite direction and skipping to keep up with the other man. "Oh come on now Virgie, it's been way too long since I last saw you, I just wanted a bit of fun, you know? But hey, I guess you never were one for that sort of stuff. Got a whole new company according to the dressing room whispers, finally making money out of that gorgeous little power you've got. Oh, just thinking about it makes me go all tingly!"

"Fuck off Remus."

"Now come on, is that any way to talk to your old best friend? I thought you'd be ecstatic to see me again. I sure know that I'm excited, if you know what I'm on about-"

"You were never my best friend and you know it." Virgil looked over at him for only a second, watching as Remus exhaled another cloud of smoke into the air. How was he able to completely ignore all the people, all those in the queue who were waiting to go in and were staring over every inch of exposed skin that strutted past them like a prize turkey? That was one of the things Virgil had never understood about him. There was a whole list of them, but that one had to be right near the top. "I've got to get back to my shop."

"I saw what happened with your buyer." Hesitating for only a moment, Virgil continued but his pace slowed, Remus grinning as he was able to speed up just enough to be in front of him, effortlessly walking backwards as he continued to talk. "Shame, really, I'm sure whatever piece you've stolen this time is worth the money and the poor guy dared to offer you stone. A true scoundrel!" Remus pointed the end of his cigarette towards Virgil. "But, if it was worth my time than I could consider taking it off your hands. I'm assuming you don't want to hold onto it for any longer than you have to, and I am a man of many tastes. My personal favourite is human flavoured, but I could get into whatever it is that you're selling. See, I am a good friend!"

This could be a trap. A joke. Something to get him to stop so that Remus could drag him back into the club because, knowing him, he had already got a plan all laid out nice and neat with that snake to get Virgil back one way or another. Then again, he needed to get rid of the necklace and any sort of money would be appreciated at this point. Going over the possible consequences in his head, Virgil just kept coming to the same conclusion. Even if it turned out to be entirely fake, it was still an opportunity to sell something and it would be stupid for him to not take the chance, no matter how personal the reasons for him doing so may be. Only a poor fool allowed grudges to stop him from making money around this sort of place. He didn't stop walking though, simply reaching into his pocket and pulling out the necklace. It was solid gold, although he couldn't tell exactly how much as even his contact who was a specialist on that sort of stuff hadn't been entirely sure. And there was one gem in it, an emerald, neatly cut and set into place at the base of the chain so that it hung exactly centre. It could be classed as beautiful, if you had the chance to think of things are just beautiful and not worth money. With the lights of the club growing dimmer whilst he walked, it wasn't as bright as it may normally have been but regardless what little light was there reflected off the gem, sending flashes of green all over the place like a disco ball. Remus seemed intrigued. Leant in to look at it, bending down to get a better look, placing the end of the cigarette between his teeth to free up his hands and turned the gem, checking how well it was set into its casing. It certainly showed that it came from a higher province.

"How much?"

"Twenty five silver."

"Hey, come on, that's more than you were going to make the other guy pay for it! I was listening to the entire thing, remember."

"And that agreement had been settled long before we ever met in person. That's the price you have to pay for wanting it instantly. If you don't like it then I can always find someone else who is actually willing to pay me the right amount." Virgil pulled the necklace into his fist, going to put it back into his pocket just before Remus grabbed his arm, telling him to wait. Attached to the side of his outfit he had a pouch, a pocket of sorts, that somehow managed to work alongside everything else without looking entirely insane. You could hear coins rustling inside, metal clanking against metal in a way that only happened to those who had more than enough to spare on necklaces, fingers flitting between the various colours as he collected up the silvers in his other palm, double checking and counting out twenty five before holding it out and dropping them into Virgil's hand. He knew that they would all be there, Remus wasn't that stupid, but he checked nonetheless. Habit, perhaps. Dropping the coins into his now empty pocket, he let Remus take the necklace from his hands.

"Pleasure doing business with ya Virgie." Clenching the end of the cigarette between his teeth, Remus unlatched the necklace and put it around his neck, fumbling a moment to get it right but ultimately managing to get it on so that the emerald was set, low cut across his neck in a way that somehow didn't look out of place when compared to the rest of the outfit, despite the expensive nature of it and the tackiness of what it was that Remus wore. And this perfect fit made Virgil hate him more.

"Wish I could say the same for you. Go back to your audience then, I'm sure they're waiting. " All Virgil wanted was to now go home, eat something and not talk to anyone for at least two days. This had been more than enough interaction for him and he wasn't sure he could handle being around anyone without flipping at the moment. Remus stepped to the side. His fingers were tracing over the outline of the emerald, admiring it, his mouth slowly growing into a grin the longer that he stared at it. Gosh, it really had been a long time since he had last had any sort of communication with Virgil, and now he had just gone and bought a necklace from him as if nothing had happened between them. It seemed wrong, acting like this was just any other transaction. Sure, having a past with someone shouldn't stop you from selling to them, but ignoring him completely was just rude. Looking back at where Virgil had gotten to, he realised that he wasn't that far ahead, head tucked against his chest, feet hurrying along the path to get out of there as soon as possible, away from him, and when you think about it, you'd think that he would of at least pretended that he had liked talking to Remus again even if he had hated every single second of it. Allowing his heels to click loudly against the floor, Remus ran, not stopping until he was directly in front of him, clawed fingers grabbing Virgil's wrists and pinning him against the wall. 

"You didn't even say goodbye," Remus whined, not caring at all that Virgil was fighting against him. If need be he could just shift into someone stronger to keep him there, although he doubted that he would need to do that. Narrowly missing the knee that Virgil was aiming between his legs, Remus transferred both of his wrist into one of his palms, pushing them against the wall so that the skin scraped across brick. "You know, boss boy would really love to talk to you at some point. Imagine that, just a happy little conversation between two old pals."

"We aren't friends, we aren't pals and I sure as hell aren't going to go crawling back to him no matter how bad I get!" His legs were kicking out. If he could just swing one of them under, he would be able to knock Remus off balance and then he could push him off and run for it. It just seemed like no matter what he did, Remus knew just before and reacted, moving an arm, a leg, his torso, dodging out of the way and only pushing his hands further into the wall so much that he could feel the skin being torn off in places.

"Oh, I know. I never said that you'd come willingly." This was almost too easy. Blowing out the last of the smoke from his cigarette, Remus twirled the butt of it between his thumb and forefinger. "And after all that we gave to you, I can't believe you wouldn't even say goodbye. Really Virgie, where have your manners gone?" With one move, he gripped the cigarette and pushed the burning end into Virgil's neck, the heat burning against his skin, blistering. He was trying not to scream so that he wouldn't give him the pleasure of knowing it hurt, he refused, but the tears forming in his eyes and the clenching of his teeth together to prevent any noises from escaping was more than enough evidence that he was affected, no matter how much he wouldn't admit it. Sighing, Remus pulled the cigarette off, dropping it to the floor and alongside it, Virgil. "Come see us again some time! I'm pretty sure we still have your costume somewhere, if you'd like!" Waving over his shoulder, Remus didn't look back to see Virgil using the wall as leverage to stand up, simply winked at the guard as he walked back in and watched as the blur of black rounded the corner and went out of sight through the corner of his vision.

"Do you remember when I accidentally set that bush on fire?" Roman laughed, Logan opposite him, long ago having finished his cup of tea and instead sat chuckling at whatever little jokes it was that the two of them shared. They had so many from over the years that it was difficult to pinpoint just one which could be the cause of their apparent amusement. Suppose that is what happens when you grow up being friends with someone since you were such small children that you can't entirely remember being introduced, only the times that you spent together since that wonderful day.

"Which time? You've done that at least three times if I recall correctly, and I highly doubt that my memory is being inefficient today."

"The one when it was the day before your birthday." Sighing as he was finally able to restrain his laughter, Roman grinned and leant back in his chair, staring up at the blank ceiling. He should ask Henry if there was any way that he could decorate it. Perhaps he would consider having it painted like a night sky, with all the constellations that they always pointed out, even the ones that weren't official. "You'd mentioned that your parents didn't give you a big party, just a cupcake for your desert on the evening so I was determined to make sure that you had some sort of part even it wasn't actually on the day. So I threw stones at your window to get you to come downstairs and I had an entire picnic ready in the field by our houses, all set out even with a lamp so that we could see."

Logan smiled slightly, letting the memory settle into his mind. He had deliberately never mentioned the birthday thing before to him, not until this one year, he was turning twelve, and he had accidentally let slip about the fact that he had never really had a birthday party. Obviously he'd been to them, he'd gone to the ones at Roman's house when it was his and his brothers birthdays, up until they were sixteen and then it was only Roman's. But he had never had his own. Frankly he had never felt like he was missing out, all the unnecessary cake and frivolity had just seemed to be something that other kids enjoyed and Logan did not, so he had never thought much of it. But Roman had been determined to give him a birthday party that year. He'd spent hours cooking, having shown Logan pictures his mom took of him stirring batter together and sticking his tongue out the side of his mouth as he tried to cut a sandwich as perfectly as he could manage, so that both sides were exactly equal no matter which one you chose. He'd raided his jar of random coins that he had stashed in his room and went to buy Logan a present as well, all on his own.

"I remember. It was past midnight and you threw stones at my window so I would come down and you had the food all set out on a blanket, lanterns. I still don't understand how you managed all of that when you were only twelve yourself."

"Believe me, it was hard. Plus I got our chef to help with some of it, but that was only when I was putting the cake in the oven! They didn't trust me not to burn myself."

Just the thought of Roman protesting against their old cook, demanding that he be the one to put the cake in to cook else it wouldn't count, made Logan smile wider. "Rightfully so. You never really stopped to think. Besides, you'd put it all together and you got me my first Rubik's cube. I still have that you know, on one of my shelves, alongside all the other ones which I have become acquainted with over the years. I'd have to say that it remains to this day my favourite, even if I do have to be careful that it doesn't fall apart when I muddle it up and redo it for my entertainment in moments of boredom."

"I was so happy that you liked it," Roman began, soon falling into a fit of giggles, "that I fell backwards and the surprise caused me to send little balls of fire out my hands and whoosh!" To emphasise his point, he pushed his hands up as if there was an explosion. "The bush was on fire! It's just lucky we managed to put it out before anything too bad happened."

They had spent the last two hours talking, Logan having originally come over again after they were able to catch up the day before. Initially it had been a plan to try and sort out what they were going to do about the thefts, but they had gotten off topic within five minutes and at this point Roman was certain that they had spoken about every single childhood incident that they had been through together. Anything that was worth reminiscing on, they had spoken about. Laughed about. Whispered in hushed tones about. It had just been so nice to be able to talk to his friend again so freely that Roman had entirely forgotten why they were there to begin with, mind hazy with the nostalgia of times before things went downhill, when neither of them had to worry about jobs or public images or family scandals that had threatened to ruin everything that his parents had worked so hard to uphold. This had been a time of picnics and stargazing and secrets mumbled in ears about who liked who and things they would never admit to their parents at night when the world was asleep and they were the only two who seemed to be awake. It felt illegal, even though they knew it wasn't. Adrenaline rushing as Roman dragged Logan across the field to show him a patch of exotic flowers that he had found. It was a time that they were innocent. It was a better time than now.

"That was so long ago that it seems like we were different people then."

Fingers fiddling with the empty cup of coffee, the remnants of what had once been inside only being shown through the brown stains that created circles around the inside, rings that showed what had existed and now was gone, Logan felt the smile drop a little from his face. "That's because we were different people." Placing the mug onto the desk in front of him, he leant forward and picked up his papers. "We should really get back onto topic, I have various points which I would like to discuss with you about the thefts."

"Yes, of course."

As much as he loved to have this time to himself, Roman needed to remember that he still had a job to do and talking about things that had happened when they were children wasn't going to help them stop the fifth province rats from robbing those better off than them. There had been another few houses targeted the night before, so this was an issue that he needed to sort out sooner rather than later if he wanted to prove to the public that he was capable of doing something about the issues within the state. Otherwise he could easily end up being a laughing stock, and Roman wasn't sure if he was able to handle with such a dramatic fall regarding how other people viewed him.

The papers and notes he had regarding all the thefts were laid out in front of him. Logan had his own, alongside things that he had been able to find through the police database. "So, is there anything in particular that you want to talk about?"

"I think that there's one person behind a lot of these thefts."

Pausing his rustling of papers, Roman looked up at Logan. He thought that maybe he would be joking, but that wasn't the type of thing that Logan was exactly known for, and from the tension that he could see in his face, it was obvious that this was a genuine point that Logan had wanted to mention. "How would that work? We've already come to the conclusion that there is probably a gang behind this, plus many of the heists were far too big to have been carried out by only one person. And what about when there were multiple at the same time?"

"I agree that most of them were carried out by a gang, but I truly believe that there is an individual riding off the wind which these groups have caused and using it to target some other places that would get less attention. Look." Pulling several reports out of his pile, Logan slid them across the desk towards Roman. "They are always on residential properties whilst the others are on those owned by companies, and all the eye witness reports which we have claim that they saw one person, dressed in a cloak that was black with some other colour that we believe to be either purple or pink, always running away from the scene as authorities arrived. However, we have at least five reports of the same person being present at various properties, all of which having reported stolen property the following day. If it is the same person than we should issue out a warrant for their arrest. This could act as a deterrent for the other gangs, and would diminish a vast amount of the cases." Hand coming to rest on the papers, Logan stared over his glasses, "they seem to know what they're doing, so the sooner we can catch them the better."

The information was still sinking into Roman's head. Only one person? It made sense if he thought about it. Being on your own would mean that you don't have to worry about your companions ratting you out. You could get in and out quicker. Based on what Logan was showing him, it was always at the same time as other attacks so they were clearly not related to the main groups at all. This really was one, very well prepared person.

"If I sign an order to have them arrested upon sight, would you be able to get that to go through as soon as you had the chance? It would mean that there was a greater chance of capturing them as soon as they try to strike again."

"Of course. I have contacts within the police force, and a group of us are all aiming to capture them as soon as possible."

With a small nod of his head, Roman looked over all the papers. It didn't seem like it could be possible for only one person to have carried out so many thefts and have not been caught, or at least found trying to sell on the valuables considering it wasn't the type of stuff that someone like that would usually just carry around. If there wasn't evidence before him, all laid out nice and neat in alphabetical order like Logan put everything, then it was likely that Roman would never have believed it. But the chances of it happening again were too high for him to take the risk and leave it. Searching around through the desk, Roman pulled out a pen. You lose a bit of control every time you insert hesitation into your speech. So Roman didn't hesitate.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW:  
> Mentions of prostitution, weapons, description of injuries, methods of injury and alcohol consumption.

When the announcement had been made, the news slowly leaked its way down through the ranks, spreading from province to province. Being murmured with a laugh over cups of what was meant to be coffee considering how early on in the morning it was, but knowing the people that walked down the streets at three in the morning, yelling about how the world was coming to an end, it was almost definitely alcohol in those cups. Shots downed to try and forget the problems that they were being forced to face. Lungs calling for breath in desperation as the burning liquid slid down their throats and left a trail of fire that fell out their mouths any time that they got that bit too close and spoke to you. Even if the drunks weren't the most sanitary of people to be around in the lower provinces - and even if they were likely to end up falling into a ditch somewhere and sleep for days until the effects of their drunken rampage wore off - they were very reliable as a source of information. Drunk words are sober thoughts after all.

The news was of an arrest warrant. Any information on the mysterious man who had been confirmed to be behind a surprisingly large amount of the thefts which had been plaguing the upper provinces. Not that anyone was going to rat out who they thought it was, they weren't that stupid, but people still considered it. The reward was more than enough to make the thought linger in the backs of minds for perhaps a little longer than it may have previously done so; the promise of fifty golds coins for the live capture of him was certainly something. Of course, there was the slight issue of nobody knowing exactly who it was. Guesses could be made, and people who had bought stolen items could be pretty sure they knew the culprit, but without any proof regarding their actual role in the acts, the chances of handing them in and having it believed were slim to none. It was rare for the people of the fifth province to be believed.

At the time of the announcement, the vast amount of people were either just emerging from their hiding places or crawling back into them. It wasn't too late at night, around eight o'clock, so a lot of people had ears strained for any news from the first province, and the second that they received it, they were passing it on to whoever would listen and sure enough by the time the hour past and nine rolled around, everyone had heard.

Walking down the centre of the street, hood pulled over the top of his head and eyes jolting from side to side, Virgil had heard the news pretty early on from a friend who knew about his little escapades on an evening, warning him to be careful in case anybody else put two and two together and decided that the gold was more than enough reason to grab him and run. He wasn't the most underground of people, so a lot of people had a habit of going to him for a variety of reasons, but Virgil had been friends with him for a while so more often then not when he dropped in it was just for a quick conversation and potentially to see what new weapons he had managed to cook up since the last time they talked. In reality, the only reason he knew him was due to the fact that he was going out with Pat's brother, Emile. Had been for years at this point, even though they worked in entirely different places and only saw each other on evenings most of the time. But he was loyal to his own beliefs, wouldn't rat them out and was by the far best available mechanic that Virgil had the opportunity of going to.

In order to reach his house, Virgil had been made to leave the comfort of his own store, the little bubble of protection which he had formed around himself falling away the second he stepped beyond the boundaries of the places that he was familiar with. At the very least he knew that he wasn't going to be attacked by anyone unless they wanted to be shot, but that didn't make him any less concerned. Regardless of how quickly there was a response, anyone could snag him and try to take him in and he doubted many people would realise who he was quick enough to stop them. 

Bubbles were his thing. Hiding away where he knew that nobody could find him, or at the least they had no accessible way to attack him, making sure that he was protected from anything going on outside and snuggled into a corner with weapons propped ready for the slightest inconvenience. Leaving had meant abandoning that, that tiny ounce of security, and by hell he would be annoyed if it turned out that this entire trip was a whole waste of time.

It was doubtful that it would be, but that didn't stop thoughts from spinning through his head at a rate that he could not comprehend and making him think about the chance that perhaps, just perhaps, this was a trap. The different gangs had been known to make pacts before, one person in exchange for another. Swapping humans like currency. Reducing them to nothing more than goods to be traded, no actual worth to their lives being found. Quite frankly, Virgil was certain that no matter how much of a pacifist he was, Emile might actually kill this guy if he found out that he'd handed Virge off to the cobras; and for Emile to get angry it really had to be bad. That guy had only gotten mad like three times in the entire time he'd raised Virgil and Patton, once when he first moved in with them, once when they found his parents gone, and once when he found out that Virgil had initially dragged into the gang. It was not a pretty sight.

Up ahead of him was a small building, tall rather than wide, about five floors tall although it wouldn't surprise anyone if they had multiple layers of basement hidden underneath the floorboards, hoarding weapons or prisoners or those who had debts to settle. The only sign it was inhabited at all really was the brown bat spray painted across the entire front, a circle encompassing it, trapping it in an imaginary prison from which it could never escape. A couple of people were walking in and out, whispering words to the two women stood guarding the door, flashing the symbol burned into the back of their hand as proof.

If there was any reason Virgil had refused to accept any form of invite to join this gang in particular it was due to the initiation process. Most of the others he would probably be able to handle, but having a metal rod heated as hot as it could get, inching ever closer to melting, and then being pressed into the back of your hand so that the skin blistered and burned and permanently imprinted who you belonged to. That was too much.

"What do you want?"

He was pretty sure he had seen these two before. It was almost always the same people who guarded the outside of the building, that way they knew who was expected and if someone claimed to be a friend of the boss they could throw them down the alleyway quicker than they would have the chance to blink. The one thing he couldn't remember was their names. Faces were easy, names not so much.

"I was wanted. Don't ask me for a mark, don't have one. I just know your main guy."

"Wait, you're the child of the bosses boyfriend right?"

Sure he had a name, but if it meant that he was allowed in and wasn't sent away after having come so far than Virgil wasn't going to complain." Yeah. I'm the adopted one."

"Oh, Virgil! It's been a long time since you've come around here I didn't recognise you for a second there." The other woman squinted for a moment, a look of recognition slowly dawning on her face as well. Better late than never. "Word on the street is J's still tryna get you to rejoin the cobras. Glad to see you haven't given in to that egomaniac just yet."

Hand instinctively raising to feel around his neck where the chain should sit, Virgil chuckled softly. "Nah, he's not worthy of me. You'll probably be the first to know if I do. Anyways, I'm here for your boss so is there any chance I could get in?"

"Yeah, yeah of course. He's on third floor as usual. We have a few new guys so be wary of them, other than that you know where you're going. Good luck."

Pushing the door open for him, the woman smiled at him as he nodded in appreciation. Unlike the outside that was desolate and abandoned and altogether looking as if it had indefinitely seen better days, the inside was jam-packed with every item possible. Weapons were stashed on the fourth floor, most members hung out on the lower two, secret gambles being made and copper coins exchanging reluctant hands as laughs rung out and people grumbled about cheating that they couldn't prove, agreeing to a new round or throwing cards hard down onto the table in a defeated stance. When you walked down the rooms, glancing through the doors as you did, examining each instance, every one of them was different with a new story to try and distinguish. Stairs were situated at the opposite end of the building, spiralling right to the top. If you stood in the centre at the bottom and strained your neck upwards, it was possible to see the ceiling, a dark spot far far away.

It got more lavish as you went up the steps. It began as basics, the second floor having coloured walls and pattered carpets that were lacked on the first. By the time you reached the third, it was obvious that the further up you walked, the most important the person that you would find. Lamps lined the hallway, proper ones that rarely flickered. Paintings – most probably stolen – were positioned at intervals across the walls. Mechanical items were scattered all over the place as well, made from bits of a toaster, or the inner parts of a clock, all stuck together to make machines that were either ticking happily from their positions where they worked, or entirely left to fall apart or for the items within it to be collected by whoever dared scavenge for them to be used to another brilliant idea that they may have had.

Considering how well guarded the front of the building was, it would have been a safe bet to assume that the room where the boss, the leader, the main guy, the room where he would be found would also be extremely well guarded. You would lose the bet of course, but it would still be a good bet to have.

The door was swung open, music blasting from some contraption that he had come up with in his spare time, and not a guard in sight. His desk was a mess of sketches and blueprints and parts, legs thrown up onto the small piece of space that remained and his face was contoured into a look of pure concentration as he spun a screwdriver, a metal leg laid out in front of him. He looked up as Virgil knocked on the door, immediately throwing down his equipment and placing the limb on his chair.

"Virgil! You came!"

"Well you did want to see me Remy, plus it would be rude of me to say no when you had warned me of the money on my head so early on."

"What can I say, I look out for my family whether they're part of the gang or not."

Beckoning for him to come in, Remy began moving stacks of papers off a spare chair, wiping a couple of screws onto the floor with a clang and patting the seat to encourage Virgil to sit down. Only once he had did he himself walk back around to be behind his desk, flopping down with a thud and picking up the metal leg. It turned over in his hand, catching the light and giving the entire thing a slightly menacing glint. Despite that, it looked pretty badass.

You would never really think that Remy was a gang leader just by looking at him. Virgil hadn't known until a few years after he had begun dating Emile, and even then he had been under the impression that he was only a high up member of one, not that the entire thing was run by him and had been run by him for many many years. It was successful as well. Originally it had been incredibly small, only Remy and a few friends who he'd had since he was a kid, but with time they recruited more and more members to join either from the people who were left abandoned on the streets by other gangs or just the general public who were yet to have been recruited. Every gang was named after an animal in the fifth province - no, Virgil did not know why but there was most likely some deep rooted, stupid philosophy behind it which had started off as a joke and ended up becoming the illegal law that everybody followed - and Remy had been walking down the street one night and had a bat land on a trash can right in front of him. Next day: boom! Their symbol was a bat.

"Do you wanna examine it for me? I need someone to tell me whether there's any bits that look out of place." Extending his arm, Remy offered the item over to Virgil who took it happily, bringing it up closer to his face to see just how well constructed it was.

"I see you've had an upgrade," he murmured, eyes looking over the top of the contraption for a moment to watch as Remy stretched out his right arm, flexing the fingers one at a time to make sure that they hadn't gotten stiff. "Last time I saw you, your arm was still on the fifth model. That looks like different mechanics. Plus the metal is a whole lot shinier."

Remy laughed loudly, shaking the arm up and down as if trying to prove a point on how resilient it was. Virgil had asked once about how he lost his arm and had never tried again after Emile had told him that it wasn't important. But regardless of how, Remy had learnt mechanics and built himself an entirely new limb without anyone's help and each time he broke one or needed to change it he would upgrade it to a newmodel, one more durable and flashy and proof to anyone who tried to look down on him how much he deserved to be where he had gotten himself. The leader of his own gang, a business building mechanical limbs for those who needed them and taking in the people who had been left to fend for themselves because of one injury or another. In terms of impressiveness, the best one that Virgil had seen in his time was a dude who had been captured and tortured by an old gang, one that had since died out but which had been known for how ruthless it could be. When Remy found him he had been unable to move either of his legs and had a horrendous chunk of flesh missing from the side of his stomach. It took about two weeks between Rem and a few other people, but eventually the guy was not only up and walking but had ended up becoming one of the gangs most feared fighters by those on the outside. The best part? The guys name was Sid.

What was so great about the guy being called Sid? Nothing technically. It just seemed so perfect that such an unbreakable man, someone who had two fake legs made out of incredibly well designed and bullet proof material and part of his side had been patched over in such a way that he did kind of look part robot, that this man. His name was Sid. It could have been Mucho or Bruce or Killer. But no. Sid. Sid was actually nice, although terrible at poker and an incredibly sore loser when you beat him. Nice, though.

"Yeah I upgraded last week. One of the joints got too loose and I decided it was time for a change. What do you think?"

"It looks wicked as always. As does this," he stated, handing the leg back over the desk to him. "Whoever gets it will love it. You're getting better every time I see you."

"That is the plan so thanks babes."

Taking the leg from Virgil, Remy held it for a moment, examining his work. He was proud, and rightfully so. He was amazing. The only problem with this was the fact that Virgil had only come here on the request of Remy so sitting around, talking about random things wasn't exactly in his plan of action. "I hate to break up this wonderful reunion and all Rem, but you were the one to call me here?"

"Ah yeah, right." Appearing to snap out of whatever trance he had gotten into, Remy nodded and reached under his desk, grabbing a poster and slamming in onto the table. "I told you that you were wanted, but I didn't think they'd try and put you on a poster." It wasn't a great description, they had very little information on what he actually looked like beyond his cloak and general mannerisms, but that sure as hell wasn't about to stop them from doing the best job they could at making it as obvious as possible that Virgil was the person that they were looking for.

To be honest the entire situation could have been a whole lot worse, but this certainly wasn't going to help him remain undercover until this died down. Virgil swore slightly under his breath, slumping back into the chair and rubbing the bridge of his nose. "For crying out loud are they incapable of accepting any loss? Like come on, those second province snobs aren't going to miss the stuff I took, their front gardens alone are probably worth more than most people down here would earn in their entire damn lives. It's pathetic." Lowering his arm, Virgil stared at the poster again for a moment. "And I don't even look good!"

That bought out a slight chuckle from Remy, but one that just fell past his lips and was destroyed by the silence that continued to surround them.

"You know I'll protect you against anyone who tries to hand you in V. I owe it to Em and it turns out I also have a guilty conscience which would make me feel bad if I didn't. But I can't give you full protection at all times. You need to be careful out there."

Virgil nodded. "Thanks Rem. I might go try and talk to Pat, maybe stay with him for a couple of weeks until the whole thing has died down a little. He could always use my help at his shop and I'm more likely to be able to run into Emile if I'm there." The chair scraped across the carpet as he stood, drawing lines to show where he had been. "If I need any more help I'll be sure to contact you."

"Don't hesitate Virge."

All Remy was able to gain in response was a grim smile. His mind was elsewhere, already planning how he was going to get back and get his things, how he was going to word this to Patton to make it seem a lotless bad than it actually was. Hand raised, Virgil gave a small two fingered salute – gratitude – immediately pulling his hood up and heading down the corridor. A couple of seconds before he reached the end, preparing himself to turn the corner and dodge his way out of the building, Remy called out his name and causing him to pause with one hand pressed against the wall, head tilted sideways in curiosity. The man grinned. "I can't interest you in joining us before you go, can I? I'll get you a symbol soon as possible."

"Nice try Rem," he smirked back, raising the back of his hand to show where the skin remained clear. Unblistered. Unmarked. "But I'm good."

Remy shrugged. "Can't blame a guy for trying, now can you?"

The hand dropped to his side, tucking itself inside one of his pockets as the fingers of the other slid across the wall, caressing a piece of peeling paint and pulling it off so that it dropped in flakes to the floor. He had to leave sooner rather than later, but that didn't stop him from thinking about what Remy had said. "No, I suppose I can't blame you for trying."

On the rare occasions that Logan was unable to get a hold of Roman for one reason or another, he always put in his plan as official State Detective business and went to do it anyway. Usually he was in a meeting, or was on the phone with someone attempting to secure a deal that could not be interrupted, and during those times he knew that there was no chance of accessing him to gain permission. However, more recently he had found that Roman was talking to Janus. A lot. Of course it was good that the two of them had an appropriate dynamic between them as they would spend a lot of time together and Janus would need a reason to want to protect Roman, but the other day Logan had walked into the office to find them in the middle of a conversation and he had never felt like more a stranger than he had that moment. So, when he had walked down the hallway and paused partway, spotting Janus leant against the wall and Roman laughing at some joke he had just told, instead of bothering them Logan just stretched to remove the tightness appearing in his chest and did a half spin to go in the opposite direction.

Emotions were confusing. When he thought about it, really he should be happy that Roman was getting along well with his bodyguard, the person who was literally in charge of making sure that he was kept alive and that nothing bad happened to him. Yet, whenever he thought about the fact that he was laughing at his jokes and not talking to Logan, not sharing those jokes with him or talking about the things that they had gone through since they were literally children. It hurt. There was something about the hurt that was different though, it wasn't as if he experienced any actual pain that he could complain about. It was all so ridiculous. Which is the exact reason why he didn't mention it at all and instead distracted himself with his work.

He'd tell Roman about what he had done later. Really he didn't need Roman to come with him as it was, he was busy being Head of State, passing laws and protecting citizens. Needless interruption to his schedule just didn't make sense. Which is how Logan had found himself placing his arms through the holes in his jacket and heading straight through the state down to where the fifth province began.

There were horror tales from this place. Every officer who had been tasked to go down here at one time or another spoke of how awful it was. How they'd lost a watch. How there really wasn't all that much going on and that they'd been scared to go any deeper into the darkened streets or to look around shadowy corners. It wasn't uncommon for guards who had done rounds to return back with little bits and pieces they bought from the shops in the main square to show off their achievement: going into the fifth province and coming out unharmed. It was some twisted ritual. He had always doubted that it was as bad as people claimed for it to be, but this would be the first time he saw it for himself.

If there was one thing that surprised Logan most as he went down the provinces, it was how the quality of everything just got worse and worse. By the fourth he could count the number of trees he had seen on one hand and by the fifth he had lost count of the number of broken windows or boarded up buildings he had seen in the depths of alleyways. Why didn't they work harder to move up into a better place?

Soon enough, the main square of the fifth province came into view, with the cracked stone floor stretching across and store fronts calling out for customers to brace their steps once more. It seemed like the only source of normality in this place. Pulling a face at the slight stench of iron that seeped its way into his nose, Logan scan quickly over the options he had, eyes catching on what claimed to be a healers. A healers? He wouldn't have thought anyone would have to money to pay for that service if they were forced to stay in these conditions. So how this guy was still in business was a mystery he aimed to discover the answer to. Adjusting his glasses a little and ignoring the looks he was gaining from the stragglers going down the street or people staring out their windows at him, he redirected himself and pushed open the door to a jingling bell and a voice from the back calling for him to take a seat.

It wasn't as bad as he expected. There were chairs, some decorations. For the most part it seemed clean. Well, he supposed that it was supposed to be considering it was a healers apparently. Electing to not take the voices advice, he strolled forward to the desk opposite him. Papers sat in a pile on the one side. A quick side eye after checking no one had arrived yet revealed them to be legal documents, all set out in order. It was all so organised. And it was concerning Logan greatly.

"Really sorry to keep you waiting, I had to clean up after someone who just came in." A man appeared from around the back, dusting his hands together and glasses slipping down his nose until he took the time to push them back up with his knuckle. "Nasty injury on their arm that had left blood everywhere. I didn't want to leave it there in case the next person in felt unsafe." When he finally looked up, the man paused, looking over his outfit. It was clear that he wasn't used to people so well dressed appearing in his store, and after a second to take in the situation he darted behind the desk and picked up the papers, sorting them into order and offering them over to Logan. "I'm assuming you're here on checks? Everything should be there."

"Actually, no. I'm the official State Detective, Logan Captiosus. I'm on other business, I don't intend to look over your credentials. It appears as if everything is there as it is."

The man appeared confused as he placed the papers back into their neat pile at the end of the desk, doing another sweep up and down Logan, seeming to check that he wasn't imagining this and all of this was actually happening. Why was everyone so surprised to see someone from a higher province there? As far as Logan was aware, there were often guards walking around to check that everything was in order, or there should be when you think about the fact that crimes were so much likely to be committed in the lower provinces.

"Uh, I'm sorry to ask sir but do you have any proof you're who you say you are?"

"Oh, yes. Of course." Reaching into his inside pocket, Logan pulled out his badge and directed it towards the owner, watching with avid curiosity as he leant in and squinted, slowly reading it under his breath until he understood what it said. Righting himself, the man smiled and offered his hand out.

"Good to meet you detective. I'm Patton Morales, I own this healers shop. What is it that I can help you with today, if you're on official business and all?"

Patton. The name seemed to suit the guy. There was still something that felt like it was off, but with no evidence and nothing directly out of the ordinary, all Logan could do right now was get on with what he had come to do and hope that he figured it out as he went along. He shook the hand offered to him. "You will probably have heard about the recent robberies which have been occurring within the higher provinces. I am hoping to try and gain some more information regarding who could be behind this horrific acts of selfishness, and I thought the best place to start would be here where people such as yourself are sure to have heard at least something on the matter."

Well that was interesting. At the mention of the thefts, he seemed to tense up. Became increasingly more agitated. His fingers fiddled with a thread bracelet that he had on, twisting it around his wrist. Maybe he was trying to hide it, make it look like he was acting no different than he had been before, but to the likes of someone such as Logan who looked into this stuff for a living, it was obvious.

"I guess it depends what sort of stuff you're looking for detective. Everyone knows someone who'd blame someone else, but as for concrete evidence I've got nothing to help. I suppose you could ask around but I doubt you'll get much."

"Is there something you're not telling me, Patton?"

"Trust me detective, if I knew something I'd tell you." That was almost definitely a lie, but Logan wasn't going to call him out on it just yet. The guys eyes kept looking behind him, past his face where they should be and instead at the door. It certainly hadn't opened, else he would have heard the bell go off by now, but it would be a safe guess to assume that someone was expected. Someone who he didn't want to be seen by authorities. Pointing towards the stack of papers that had been moved away to the side, Logan continued to analyse the facial expressions, the body language. Anything that he could use to figure out what was going on and what it was that he was missing.

"Would you mind if I did actually have a look at those?"

He was scrambling for them instantly, focusing so much on making sure that he hadn't actually forgotten anything that it gave Logan the chance to break down the barrier he kept up. It wasn't one of the stronger ones he'd faced, still difficult but weak. He rarely did this unless necessary, and he would certainly count this as a time of necessity.

"Here you go," Patton mumbled, placing the last sheet into position and stepping back, teeth gnawing on the end of his thumb as he did so, watching with expectant eyes whilst Logan glanced over the sheets. Of course everything was there and in order. He had expected no different. But that wasn't why he had asked. Keeping his hands pressed on the desk, head dipped down to make it look as if he was reading the words over, he pushed past the very last piece of wall and was able to direct his way into Patton's mind. Telepathy was useful when you were a detective. However, unlike others, he had never spent excessive amounts of time trying to advance his capabilities and as such it took a lot more effort than he would like to be able to read what people are thinking. When he first got in, it was always a mess. A jumble of words and thoughts that really meant nothing to him. Everything overlapped so much that it bought along with it the starts of a headache. After half a minute it calmed down. This was when he was able to understand what he was hearing, sift between the different thoughts until he chose the ones that he needed.

_'What am I going to eat this evening?'_

_'He has such a nice jacket, how the hell did he have enough money to buy that?'_

_'Did I forget any of the documents? No, I always check that I've got everything so there's definitely nothing that's missing from the pile.'_

_'Please don't arrive right now Virgil. Please'_

Got it. Stepping away from the sheets, Logan began to slowly remove himself from Patton's mind; not entirely, not yet, but just enough that he was able to focus on the things going on around him as well as having part of him amongst the thoughts should he need to find someone else.

"Everything appears to be in order. Thank you for that." Adjust the tie, appear satisfied. Let him begin to let his guard down as he thinks that he's in the clear. Allow him to put the pile back how he had it before, spin the bracelet once more around his wrist in a sort of celebratory turn. Then you throw it at them when their guard is down most, that way you get the most realistic reaction from them. "I have one more question before I go. If you don't mind telling me, how you do you know Virgil?"

Patton did freeze that time. Pure, utter terror flashing only momentarily across his face before he pulled the reigns in and he composed a look of neutrality. Good acting.

"He's.. well he's my brother. Not by blood or anything like that, but we raised him from a young age so he's one of the family now. He's got his own business further in the province. Really he's a good kid, and a great friend, he just had a rough time at the start of his life that we've helped him to try and get past. Why exactly are you asking about him?"

"No specific reason. You just appear to be worried about him."

"I haven't seen him in a while. And there are some people that aren't exactly nice around here, detective." The title no longer felt like it was being said out of courtesy. He was spitting it out. It was a curse. "Is worrying about family members a crime now, or something? Because if you're going to arrest me I'd rather you did so now so I can put a sign out saying that I won't be taking business for a while."

_'Leave. Go. Please just leave.'_

_'Where the hell are you V? What have you done this time?'_

"I'm not arresting you so you have no reason to worry. In fact, I think this is about as far as I appear I will get when it comes to gaining any information, so I will be taking my leave now."

Thoughts of relief washed over Logan, taking up the spaces that he was leaving behind as he dragged the very last part of him out of Patton's mind and back into the material world. He already knew that he was going to have a headache later. Nodding once towards Patton, Logan readjusted his jacket so that it sat neatly over his shoulders and promptly took his leave from the healers. There were still people staring out of their windows at him, glancing over their shoulders as he walked past, debating whether it would be worth it to try and take his watch or his wallet or something of worth. A deep, curiosity driven part of him wanted to know what he would see if he went beyond the square, went so far in that the other provinces were a thing of the past and he couldn't see behind the next dark street. But that would be just a step too far, and it was one he didn't want to take just yet. So Logan placed his hands deep into his pockets and started towards the first province. Orpheus lost his wife when he turned around. Like hell was Logan going to look behind him now.

Even though the club was most often frequented by customers on an evening where they could rely on the cover of nights shadows to hide their immoral sins in hopes that the Gods would look down and see nothing of them, during the day there was still a decent amount of people walking through the door. Only problem was that it was significantly less than later on in the day, so a lot of the people who worked there were left walking around in skimpy outfits and heels sharp enough to stab someone, getting free drinks from the bartenders and all together doing anything they could to rid themselves of the boredom. If there was one thing they hated more than bad customers, it was the daily boredom. Sunlight only slipped onto the stages when the front door was pushed open by some unfortunate soul and the rest of the time the flashing lights scattered across skin and stages and illuminated the sides of faces in various colours, following a pattern with such certainty that any of the performers that had been there for a while could probably recite it blindfolded. About a year ago Jan had decided that, as he had gained a profit from a recent investment, he was going to update everything in the club from the stages to the dressing rooms, the decorations and the entire lighting system that they had set up so that it was more entertaining. It had taken less than two weeks for every performer there to have memorised the new pattern and they began incorporating it into their routines so that the spotlight shone down on them at the perfect time. Dramatics.

Laying across one of the back stages, Remus kicked his legs up and down, examining how the glitter on his heeled boots glistened in the limited light and scattered in such a way that dots of light then speckled his hands. He had a glass next to his head, already half empty, having been full of some cocktail concoction that the bartender had created. All Remus needed to do really was lean just a little too far over the counter and give him a wink and the guy was giving him all the free drinks that he wanted. This one was fiery and he could feel it burning his throat long after he had sipped it down. He liked that.

If he was to say that there was only one other problem with the club during the day, it was that Jan was always at his other job until he got off on an evening, meaning that he had barely any time to see him any more. Honestly, he was slightly jealous. Missing the J had never been on his list of things to do, but there was only so much you could drink and how much flirting you could do before your thoughts caught backup to you and you were thinking about things you'd rather not.

Today, he reckoned, would have been a good day if his train of thought hadn't screeched round a corner that he didn't know existed and ended up at Virgil. Everyone knew that Janus was trying to find a way to get him back in the gang, but no one exactly knew how. Not even Remus. He was usually one of the only people who was ever informed about these sorts of things, but being kept in the dark about that was something that Janus seemed insistent upon. Well, two could play at that game. Remus was going to keep Janus in the dark about how much he actually missed Virgil. Last time they met up it hadn't exactly been the.. nicest? Interaction? It was mostly just Remus trying to scare him into coming back and failing so horrifically that he was certain Virgil would stay as far away from the club as was physically possible. Sweet talking had done nothing up until that part, so going for the fear factor was the only course of action that he could think of.

A lot of people were afraid of him it seemed. Granted, he was weirdly close to the leader of the gang and could have any of them taken care of with a little whisper if the need arises, however that was no fun what so ever and it would so much better if he just got rid of them himself when they began to cause trouble. He was good at that part.

With an elongated sigh of effort, he placed his hands flat onto the floor and pushed himself up to sitting. Gods this place was dead. Glancing over at the drink he still had, Remus shrugged, picked it up and downed the entire thing in one. What the hell had been put in this? Coughing repeatedly as the burning in his throat grew worse, Remus leant over, resting his hands on his knees for support until the pain had subsided and he was left with the pleasant reminder of a horrible drink with the turning of his stomach.

This was the sort of thing that he and Virgil would have done, chugging drinks they didn't understand the names of and laughing over the new customer who had come in, looking like a lost dog as the skimmed around the sides trying to figure out what to do with themselves.

"Hey Rem, you want another?"

"Nah I'm good with this one. Plus if I took another I'd feel like I've gotta pay you, and it's way too early in the day to offer you my full services just yet."

The bartender laughed, pulling a rag around a dirty glass and spinning a second later to look over at one of the singers who had sat herself on a stool to get served, casting a quick wink over at Remus' direction as a way of saying goodbye. Well he was nice!

There were so many things that Remus would admit he didn't understand; how to run a gang, how to work in higher provinces, how to not laugh when somebody said the number 69, how people could like drinking vodka straight with nothing in it, what the hell mathematics was and why it was so important, how to not flirt when some fit guy walks in. That sort of things. But when it came to understanding what had happened between Virgil and Janus, or really his lack of it, he refused. Like hell was he admitting he didn't understand that.

Glass being spun between his fingers, Remus decided that the best way to pass the time would be to try and see what he could piece together about the whole thing between them. Which actually wasn't a lot. He knew that Virgil had worked with Janus before, although he never did find out what that was for, and something had gone wrong. Badly. It essentially meant that Virge owed Jan a hell of a lot and he did not have that money to give back to him. Virgil was also very stubborn, which probably didn't help. He had been given the option of selling over his house in exchange for part of the debt being paid off – which he had refused – he had been offered the entire thing being written off if he convinced that Patton guy to join the gang as they needed a good healer – safe to say he responded with a big old no to that one as well – and then there was that one argument where Janus had said 'oh why don't you just work at this damn club then!' Turned out that wasn't too bad of an idea. Remus worked there, and willingly as well, so why shouldn't V?

"You look depressed Rem."

"Bored. No one interesting ever comes in until nightfall."

Maybe he should learn all the names of the security guards, but as long as they did their job he'd never found any reason to. This one was a common occurrence. Took no shit and did a good job. They also seemed to actually care about the performers, which is more than be said for a lot of them. You'd be surprised how many people forget that they were humans too.

"Well you could always try and come up with a new routine? It's just not like you to sit around like that."

"So you get a free show?" Remus laughed, "yeah no chance."

Dancing seemed like such hard work right at this moment. An extraordinary amount of effort. Something that he really really didn't want to do. He should have become a singer, or if he'd had one of those cool powers that some of the others had which could have been used in a routine than he would definitely have done that. Whilst shape shifting was useful as a dancer, there was very little he could use it for in everyday life. One dude who had worked there for several years had the ability to turn ice into water just by touching it. Mesmerising. All he'd need to do was take his shirt off, throw a glass of water into the air and touch it and instantly the crowd was ecstatic and the tips he gained from it were ridiculous. Apparently it could be cold at times when he did the same trick over and over in the same spot, but for the amount of money that he made it was worth every inch of frozen skin.

"You know that's not what I meant." Although there was a serious tone, it was hidden far beneath a smile. They were concerned but not wanting to push it. Oh Remus definitely liked this one. "Can't have you losing that spark everyone falls in love with, now can we?"

Can we? He could lose it. Just sit here for hours and think about the fact that he could probably never get his friend back again. But that would certainly be boring and there were far more entertaining things in life than moping over someone who now hated your entire existence. Like sucking someone's dick! "I guess we can't." Feet spinning around to the side of the stage, Remus' heels clicked loudly as they collided with the floor, pushing himself up until he was standing, arms stretched over the back of his head to remove the stiffness that overcame his muscles. "It would take a lot to put out this flame though honey."

Virgil had hated it here. Like, really hated it. To the point of Remus spending hours at a time rubbing circles in his back after an evening to try and calm him down as he cried at the unfairness of everything. It had never even occurred to Remus that people could hate working in a club. Perhaps he was just too normalised to this to really think of any other job, especially when this one paid well and he enjoyed it.

The worst time had been towards the end, the time when Virgil had begun to detach himself from Remus, staring at him every time he walked by as if he were some evil creature spawned from the depths of hell that was there to reap his soul and laugh as he bled out. Honestly, the only reason Remus had even noticed the change at all way because of how suddenly Virgil's entire attitude towards him had changed. Usually he was relaxed, they laughed, told jokes and complained during the good times. Even the night before had been a decent one and they'd spent a good couple of hours playing card games with Virgil insisting that he wasn't cheating at them despite winning round after round and forcing Remus to buy him drinks with each success. To become so hostile literally overnight was alarming. Of course he'd not had the time to think anything of it during the evening, work and customers taking up most of his mind, but after he went over to ask if something was wrong.

That was when he knew something was bad.

He'd only placed his hand on the top of his arm, a gesture he had done so often before, and Virgil flinched away like he was burning him with his touch. It was so violent, so sudden. Such certainty behind his movement that Remus frowned and tried to think desperately if there was something that he had done wrong.

"Get away from me. I've nearly paid everything off so I only have another week or so. If you even come close to me during that time I won't hesitate to stab you, okay?"

Virgil had carried around at least one knife the entire time he had been there, incorporating it into the underside of his costume with easy access that meant he could defend himself. All the other performers had assumed that this was due to wanting to ward off those customers that made it their business to test the limits and push them further than they had either paid for, or where they wanted to go. It had never even occurred to them that he may have been keeping it on him as protection against them.

"V, what's wrong-"

"Oh you know full well what's wrong. Don't contact me once I'm out, I won't reply."

That week Virgil did leave. Paid off the last part of his debt in full, set fire to his costume on the very middle stage of the club - the largest one that was for the main attractions of an evening - and walked out without saying a word to anyone. When Remus had been getting changed after, throwing on an oversized jacket to walk home in and debating whether to keep his heels on or not, he'd reached into his pocket to find the chain there. The little one that always sat around Virgil's neck. The one that had the snake charm hanging off the end as a sign of loyalty. It was still intact, in excellent condition, but it had been placed into his pocket knowing full well that he would find it only after Virgil was long gone. Now he just wore two chains; one on top of his costumes, his one that he used to identify himself, and the other underneath it, hidden away but there nonetheless, Virgil's that he had abandoned.

A part of Remus had kept it because why not. The other part secretly wished that he would need it again one day when he came back after realising that beyond the innuendo's and consistent flirting, Remus wasn't actually a bad guy.

"We're well aware of that. Now, we just had a group of people come through and I reckon this would be the perfect time to get back into it."

Five people walked through the door, clearly regulars just based on how relaxed they were talking to the waiters that came and offered them drinks. Three men, two women. At least there was a bit of diversity between them. Grinning, Remus titled his neck to the side with a satisfying crack, adjusted the emerald necklace that he hadn't taken off since he got it, and headed on over.

Immediately after Logan had left, Patton had rushed to the window and stared out of it, trying to watch until the very last second, not moving until the man was so entirely out of his sight that not even the ends of his jacket remained. Then, and only then, did he breathe properly. He could feel the detective inside of his mind but didn't know how to push him out, barely managing to hide away the fact that he knew who he was looking for. He'd been friends with a telepath when he was younger, a sweet kid named Violet, but she had been far too invasive for Patton to have ever remained friends with here. She left when they were both thirteen anyway and he hadn't heard anything from her since.

Falling back from the window, Patton knew it was only a waiting game now. The papers were still where he had left them, placed neatly once more at the end of the desk, and in the deep pocket of his trousers he had slipped a small dagger in. Maybe he didn't know how to use it but as long as he had it there he would be a little safer. Virgil had gotten it for him, for a birthday alongside red currant bread. Absolutely no context had been provided as to why it had suddenly sprung on him that Patton would need something to protect himself, but he had insisted and knowing Virgil, he wasn't about to refuse. It still felt wrong to hold, even know as he pulled it out and weighed it in his palm. So out of place against his skin. Slipping it back into its hiding place underneath the top of the desk, Patton was ashamed to say he was more than a little relieved to know that he no longer had that thing on him anywhere.

"Pat?"

When had the bell gone? It hadn't, he would have heard. So how the hell was Virgil now stood in front of him, staring with some confusion at the fact that he had just watched Patton place back a dagger he had clearly been holding before.

"Virgie! I didn't hear you come in, how did you do that?"

Side stepping out of the desk and checking out the window was Patton's first course of action. The second was rushing over and throwing his arms around Virgil's neck, pulling him closer just to be double certain that he was there and he was safe and that nothing bad had happened to him. Thirdly, he needed to make sure that he was close enough to Virgil's ear that he could be heard.

"There was a detective guy who was here earlier asking about you. I'm convinced he's still waiting nearby, watching the front of the store."

"Why do you think you didn't hear the bell? I came in down through the ceiling and climbed down the stairs. I take it that was why you had the dagger out seeing as you've hated it from the moment you got it."

"Well yeah but that's not the point right now. We need to hide you, come on."

Patton grabbed Virgil's arm, eyes darting continuously over to the door just in case, dragging him up the stairs as quick as he could manage without either of them falling over. Virgil had sent a message to him several hours ago via Remy if he could stay over for a while because of the whole incident with the First Minister and the Head of State sending out a reward for him being handed in. He hadn't scolded him about the thefts just yet - hadn't had the chance to with making sure that everything was set up for the moment he arrived - but when they were settled he was going to get it. No matter how much Patton adored Virgil, he was constantly terrified of the things that he was going through when he was away.

"Ok, there's only two rooms up here and one of them is a bathroom, so you're gonna have to sleep on the mini bed I made beside me." Coming to a stop in the upstairs room, Patton waved his arm around to indicate the two mattresses spread across the floor, a blanket neatly folded over either one and some admittedly worn but still useable pillows.

"It looks perfect, Pat. Thanks again for this."

"Don't worry about it. I can't have you wandering around on your own when people would happily trade you in for a bit of money-"

Downstairs the door bell went off. A sharp ting that belonged to someone who wasn't here on business. "I'll be down in a minute!" Turning hurriedly towards Virgil, Patton began to back out the room whilst pointing at him. "Hide, now! He's a telepath and although I should be able to convince him that you're not here, I can't take that risk. I've already told him you're name by accident - really sorry about that by the way - but we'll have to talk later." The second he had received an understanding nod in response, Patton darted back down the stairs. It was the detective, it was always going to have been the detective. He was staring at the stairs, waiting and following him in the most unnerving way as he appeared. "Oh, detective. Did you forget something, or was there something else you wanted to ask?

"I thought I saw unusual movement on your roof and I wanted to ensure that you were alright. You never know, the thief or thieves could begin targeting the lower provinces now due to how low the security risk is."

Liar. He may have seen Virgil on the roof, but Patton could already feel him beginning to prod at the mental barrier he had placed up again. He felt horrible. Violet, although appearing there when she wasn't wanted, was gentle about it and felt kind of like someone was running a feather over his brain. Logan didn't. It was like he was pushing a pencil in the gaps, as hard as he could, determined to make a space where one didn't exist.

"Well there's no entrance into my shop from the roof, sir, so you've got no reason to worry. There's only the front door you've come through and a back exit for potential emergencies. I can show you it if you really want, but there's a bell on that one too so you'd have heard if someone entered. Now please, if that's all would you mind leaving me alone? I'm expecting my brother and I wanna make sure that I've got all the stuff set up for his arrival which is due any minute now. He may get a bit anxious to see a detective here."

"Unless he has something to hide, Mr Morales, then I assure you that your brother should have absolutely no reason to be anxious of me being here."

Why was he still trying to get into his mind? It was almost as if the guy was just taking a knife and stroking it over the top of his head, scraping the skin with the pointed end and leaving red marks everywhere that he tried. Randomly he would push in, trying with all his might to break down the wall by slipping the knife in between the few cracks and pushing upwards, only to discover that Patton had set up another barrier to get him no further than he had already gotten. He already felt awful about the fact that he had given this creep Virgil's name, there was no way he was going to let him have any more. It took a good couple of minutes before he gave up and Patton could watch every step on his face. He'd tried once more, was pushed back, and the glaze in his eyes that was there disappeared in an instant. Probably wasn't well practised with using his power under high stress situations.

"Alright, I believe it's time I was taking my leave." He paused a moment, staring up the stairs. "Thank you for your time."

"My pleasure, detective."

This time Patton knew he was gone. Actually gone. Because he knew that he couldn't get anything from his mind and by the slight wince he had made as he stepped outside into the light, he had a headache. Patton would have healed it for him had he asked.

"Is everything alright?" Virgil asked, appearing at the top of the stairs and staring down at Patton. "I heard him leave."

"Yeah, everything's alright now. I told you I wasn't going to let anything bad happen to you, now didn't I?" He smiled, stretching his arms out in front of him and letting out a yawn. Gods keeping up mental barriers was tiring. "As for you," he murmured, looking back up at Virgil, "you are going to sit down and tell me why exactly you've started taking things from the houses in the second province when you promised me you'd stopped with that stuff."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW//  
> Mentions of one-sided love, heartbreak, mentions of gambling, selling of a child, PTSD with PTSD induced panic attacks and lots of crying.
> 
> Please stay safe!

Over the weeks, Janus and Roman had progressively got closer. Not in any way beyond professional, and certainly not in a way that could potentially jeopardise the work that both of them did. But just enough that they were happy to come together after Roman had finished his work on an evening, having conversations about who knows what and slowly making their way down the ridiculously large collection of various alcohols that Roman had stored in different rooms. Why there was so much alcohol in this place was confusing to him, but if it meant that he could invite Janus to drinks after work than he sure as hell wasn't going to start complaining. Sometimes he denied. Insisted that he had somewhere else that he needed to be and that he really couldn't stay any longer that evening. Most of the time, however, he accepted the invitation graciously and seemed more than willing to lounge back in a chair for hours and discuss whatever topics tickled the fancy of either man. Politics, the lower provinces, the thefts. How things were at home, childhoods, stories that made them laugh at the sheer stupidity which their former selves had held.

One evening, after Janus had said his farewells and finally took his leave from the premises, Roman had been left sat in one of the large armchairs, glass empty beside him and the entire place appearing to be significantly more empty now that only he was within it. He'd sighed loudly, spinning around to throw his legs over the side of the chair, head rested on the other side. If it was acceptable he would happily fall asleep like this. Things had gotten quieter during his time in office, but regardless there was so much the First Minister needed to do which meant that the majority of his free time was spent talking with Janus. Mind wandering over the meaningless topics they had just been discussing, Roman hadn't even noticed as Henry entered until he cleared his throat and he was forced to bolt upright.

"Apologies, sir. I was just wondering whether I was alright to take the glasses that you and Mr Dolos had been using now that he has left."

"Of course. Thank you Henry."

"No need to thank me sir, it is my job after all." Walking over to the little table that was located in the middle of where they had been sat, Henry picked up the two containers, placing them on a metal tray he was holding in his arms. It was just something that he did, and Roman had thought that their conversation would then be over until the following morning. "Sir, I understand that it is not my place but I was wondering if I was allowed to inquire into the relationship between you and Mr Dolos."

Frowning, Roman leant forward, placing his elbows on his knees and gesturing wildly. A habit that tended to be brought out when he was nervous. "Well he's my bodyguard, isn't he? You are the one who hired him after all."

"I understand that sir." There was a momentary pause in the conversation as Henry tried to think of how to word the next sentence, chewing on the skin on the inside of his cheek. "I just believe that there seems to be something beyond professionalism there and I was wondering whether I would need to begin making arrangements."

"Arrangements?"

"Yes, sir. Previously I have been placed in charge of setting up arrangements for the various First Ministers to go on dates with their partners, and I would be more than happy to do the same for you if you would like me to."

Roman wasn't sure how to respond, watching Henry a moment to ensure that he was being entirely serious before being unable to control himself and laughing slightly. It had never even occurred to him that this would have been the type of thing that Henry was used to doing, and it had certainly never occurred to him that Henry would look at how he and Janus were interacting and assume that they were going out. It was ridiculous! The both of them were entirely only friends and their so called 'relationship' did not go beyond being close friends with one another and Janus doing his job when it was needed. "Thank you, Henry, but I promise you that is not needed. Mr Dolos is nothing more than someone I have become well acquainted with and we are definitely not going to be going on a date any time soon." He smiled broadly, indicating that he wasn't mad at the implication in the slightest. "When the time comes around that means I will need you to do that, I will have you sent for to set up arrangements at the earliest convenience. Is that alright with you?"

"Absolutely sir. I apologise for misinterpreting, I know how certain relationships are better done in stealth at first due to how the media will interpret them."

"You have nothing to apologise for. You are entirely right about the stealth part, though. The media does love a good story and if they get even the hint of a relationship they will instantly slap it down as a headline. Now, I'm going to retire for the evening, so if you could please ensure everything is cleaned I would appreciate that."

"Of course. Have a good evening, sir."

The entire thing had certainly been an interaction that Roman had not expected to have, and that evening he had been laying in bed, chuckling to himself at just how obscure it was. Relationships were something that he had never found himself either interested in, or anywhere close to getting in to. That wasn't to say that he hadn't found people attractive before, but the whole concept of dedicating yourself to one person and having your heart broken when they decided that they had enough of you was just something that never appealed to him. Logan had spoken about them before, and they used to discuss the different people that they found attractive, but that was about it.

It was the day after the incident that Roman had realised more things about relationships that he hadn't known before.

Janus had arrived on time as usual, finding Roman already sat at his desk in the office, writing something down on a piece of paper, sipping down a coffee that Henry had made him and scanning through his schedule for the day. It was pretty quiet bar one meeting with a particularly prominent business owner who needed direct permission to expand their buildings and have a new one built right at the outskirts of the first province. Normally this sort of thing would just be sent to the person in charge of each individual province, but that could take a long time and seeing as he would need direct permission from the person for both the first and the second province, he had decided that it would be easier just to send the request to Roman. You couldn't get much better permission than the First Minister.

It also just so happened to be this sort of stuff that he hated being forced to deal with the most. Other things seemed to be productive, helpful. Perhaps even revolutionary, if he did say so himself. He was helping this State in ways that no one had even dared to attempt before. And yet he was sat here dealing with petty instances of people who wanted yet another store and not having the patience to wait for permission from someone else. There was probably someone who he could hire to do this for him, someone who would willingly spend their time looking over notes and finding out who people were and meeting them for him, making the decisions on their own and only needed to get Roman involved right at the end when they needed to tell him what the final outcome had been. There was probably a word for when you gave jobs over to someone else instead of doing it yourself. Delegating! That was it. Delegating. He just needed to find somebody to do these little jobs for him, pay them to do it and he could claim that he was delegating. That was a good thing for a man in charge, right?

Leaning against the door frame for a moment, Janus just stood and watched him. It was so normal to see him sat there that it didn't appear to be out of place, and at the same time everyday was something new that he didn't understand. For someone who went through as much as he did on a daily basis, Janus thought that by now this sort of thing wouldn't bother him anymore. But the higher provinces were so rich and posh that it was always a shock.

"Don't just stand there," Roman mumbled, not bothering to look up as he scribbled down another line of notes on what he knew about the business owner, "if you're going to come in than come in."

"Sorry, you seemed a bit busy."

Cup being placed down onto the desk, Roman sighed and leant back in his chair. "I am, but you appearing is certainly going to be well needed company. Say, what do you know about this guy?" He asked, moving various sheets to get the one with all the information on it and holding it out to Janus.

Nothing on the sheet was new news. He knew all of this and probably more. On a number of occasions he had gotten the more skilled members of his gang to raid a variety of buildings owned by this man, taking anything which could be pawned off for extra cash and ultimately leaving him with significantly less money than he had at the start of the day. He could recite the security systems on each and every warehouse, store, skyscraper. If you gave him a piece of paper and a pencil he could even give you a floor by floor, detailed sketch of the layout of the guys actual home as well as step by step instructions of how to get inside, go to the vault and get out without being caught by any of the guards. All this that he was being told to read through was the basics, the sorts of things you would only need to know if you were the general public or if you were going to exchange niceties with him. After all, it wasn't as if he was going to publicly announce the various manufacturing plants he had in the third province, hiring workers for a fraction of the price that he would have to pay them if he made his things in the first province. Gods Janus hated the dude immensely.

"Not much," Janus replied, raising an eyebrow as he returned the sheet back over to Roman. "I don't really buy his stuff, but I know he's probably one of the richest business owners in the state and a lot of his customers are very high class. The sorts of people that you would find walking down the streets drenched head to foot in clothes that cost more than you could imagine. Not my style, but certainly a popular choice."

"I'm trying to figure out whether to grant him permission to build another store on the border between the first and second province. He already has five in the first province alone."

A seat was placed opposite Roman's desk, usually reserved for the guests that he had, but when there was only the two of them Janus often found himself sitting down in it and leaning forward to read the papers that were spread across the desk. "Why does he need another store?" The amount of people he had hired had gone up, that was why. Janus had scouts everywhere and there had been a surge in the number of people from the fourth province who had begun working at the factories. He really needed to set up another raid on him some time soon. "If he already has five, than it doesn't make sense to have yet another even if it is right on the edge between two provinces."

Roman clicked his pen a couple of times. "Exactly. He just keeps expanding." He'd actually gotten someone to do some research into him and come up with very little. A lot of what he did was under the radar, and that really didn't sit well with him. "I'll deny him permission."

"It is your decision. I agree with it, but regardless."

Laughing a little, Roman pushed the sheets of paper to the side of his desk where he wouldn't have to think about them again until much later when the actual meeting was taking place. At the very least, he had managed to sort that decision out long before they actually needed to meet to discuss it. Right now he needed something else to think about that wasn't work or numbers or businesses. "You'll never believe what happened last night with Henry," he began, standing up from his chair and stretching his arms behind his head. "He asked whether he needed to start making secret date arrangements for us. The poor guy thought that we were dating for some reason."

"Oh, did he?"

"Yeah! I told him that I appreciated the thought and all, but there wasn't any need. I can see why though seeing as I talk to you a lot and he was probably used to keeping relationships between First Ministers so under the covers that the only people who knew about them was him and the couples themselves." His arms dropped to his sides and he began cracking each of the knuckles on his fingers individually, walking around the side of the desk in his blabbering daze. "You know, it never even occurred to me that us talking could be seen in that way. I always thought it looked really platonic, you know? I guess not."

Laughing, he finally came to a stop so that he was stood directly in front of Janus, shaking his head as the events of the evening stopped playing like a movie reel in his head. It was then he looked over at Janus for the first time, pacing coming to an immediate stop. "What's wrong?"

As a lover of anything creative, Roman had been witness to and performed in many plays and performances. There was a surprising number of them that were dramas, designed specifically to shock the audience, make them feel emotions alongside the actors, to make them relate to the character on a level that was beyond superficial. A common tactic was pauses. Put a pause in just the right place and instantly the tension is building, hearts are racing, people are on the edges of their seats - quite literally - leaning forward to get a better glimpse of what happened next. As Janus fell silent following his question, Roman felt like this would definitely classify as one of those situations were this a play.

"You can tell me what's wrong, it's perfectly fine."

"Do you only see our relationship as professional?"

"Of course not! We're obviously beyond professional at this point, in fact I'd be a bit concerned if you thought that the drinks and late night conversations were the sorts of things I'd do as part of a working relationship. I don't understand. Did the conversation make you uncomfortable? I have other work I need to sort out if you want to change-"

"Roman, stop."

Janus sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he murmured to himself under his breath, words said just that bit too quietly for Roman to understand what was being said. Gods how he hated emotions when they made his job more difficult. One deep breath in, one deep breath out. Talking to people had never been his strongest suit, and it had just begun to get easier than it ever had before when he was with Roman. It was like the words just knew what they were saying and he didn't need to think too hard about them. Somehow, now, it was the opposite. He was more aware of every word that he was going to say than he had ever been in his entire time of having worked here. "I just.. misunderstood where we were in terms of our relationship. I thought that perhaps a romantic turn was a possibility, but you obviously see different and I apologise for that. I should never have allowed this to go beyond anything other than professional-"

"Wait, wait. Slow down. What are you trying to say? That you like me?"

"Yes!" Janus froze, realising how loud he had been. "Yes. It wasn't my intention to ruin the professionalism we needed to maintain."

The room fell silent. Outside, footsteps were walking up and down corridors and glasses were clinking and rags were being brushed over paintings to clean them of dust. Words were being exchanged on the streets outside the window, letters being written, vehicles delivering food and people and goods were rolling down with engines blaring. Somewhere nearby music was being played through a speaker, piano notes drifting down the hall and under the door into their ears. Roman was also certain that he could hear his heart. Beating. Pounding in his chest to the point where he was certain that it was going to burst out at the nearest given convenience and then continue to beat even whilst it detached itself from his body and squirmed and pumped across the floor. Blood was rushing to his cheeks, staining them red. There was something he hadn't realised about relationships before. You never really expect one to occur. If you knew that you were going to end up with somebody, than you never got to have that moment of realisation when something clicked in you and you realised that more than anything in the world, you wanted to be able to call this person your own.

Another thing that he didn't know happened, was how your body began to react on its own.

Stepping forward, Roman closed the small amount of space that was between them, raising his hand to the back of Janus' head and kissed him. It was surreal, really. It wasn't something that he could safely say he knew what he was doing, but it felt so natural and right that he just allowed his body to follow whatever course it wished and wanted to see where that led him. And he liked where it had led him so far.

Unsure how to respond, Janus initially found himself seizing up, body going rigid with confusion as he attempted to discover what it was that he needed to do. His thoughts did eventually catch up to his feelings, his own hand sliding up to bring Roman close by placing his palm of the back of his neck, eyes closing to try and convince himself that as long as he didn't open them, this wouldn't end. He wanted this to keep going for as long as he could. Only when the both of them were desperate to breathe again did he pull away - not too far though - just far enough that they could rest their foreheads together, hands dropping to hold the others and fingers becoming a tangled mess that refused to be fused apart.

"I thought you didn't like me."

"I don't recall ever saying that you."

Chuckling, Janus rubbed his nose against Roman's and looked up. "You do realise this isn't exactly professional. I'm meant to be your bodyguard and protect you, not get into a relationship with you."

It was probably written in the contract somewhere that Janus was meant to remain professional at all times and not have any personal issues intervene with that. Neither of them could remember exactly what was actually on the contract. It had been boring to read and at the same time, all of the rest of the world was just that bit blurrier than usual, as if fading out once it went past the person stood in front of them. And within Roman a spark was beginning to flicker, something that hadn't happened in a long time. He deliberately kept his powers under strict lock and key and rarely even mentioned their existence, never mind actually using them in the safety of his own home, and especially not in public. People spoke, and the rumours were bad enough. So to realise that he could probably combust into a burning pillar of flames within a second because of how he was feeling was certainly a new experience that he had never had before. Ever. 

"Well screw that then. You can still be my bodyguard and go out with me at the same time; if you want to that is."

"Of course I want to you idiot."

Did you know that there are 206 bones in the human body? Babies are born with more, but they fuse together later on in life so by on average, a regular human body will contain 206 bones by the time they become an adult. They can get broken in a variety of ways; falling off somewhere high, someone deliberately breaking them, getting hit by a vehicle which is moving at a high velocity. But the interesting thing about bones is that, as long as they are cast and placed into the appropriate position so that they refuse correctly, they can heal completely to the point where you wouldn't even know the bone had been broken in the first place. Did you know as well, the human body only contains one heart? An octopus contains three, but humans only have one. The heart can have many things be wrong with it but, unlike bones, it physically cannot break due to the nature of how it is formed. And yet, so often humans can claim that they had their heart broken by somebody.

There were so many things that Logan had needed to report back to Roman after his visit to the fifth province, but he had wanted to make sure that they were all typed up in a way that could be understood and that way he could present them easily. He had a high suspicion that this 'Virgil' person was somehow involved in the thefts, but he had never actually seen him nor did he have any proof, especially seeing as that Patton Morales had put up a mental barricade the second time he tried. At least it was something.

He didn't sleep a lot on evenings, purely because of how used to being woken up by Roman he was. When they would spend hours part midnight sat in a field communicating about whatever it was that they wanted and laughing at jokes nobody else would understand, Roman throwing sticks and stones at his window until he sneaked downstairs with a jacket wrapped tightly around him and an unlit lantern that he knew Roman would put a flame in to. They had done this almost every evening, so it became routine for Logan not to sleep until the sun had started to rise during the summer months, or when early morning birds had begun to sing during the winter. So that night he had sat, setting up his findings to present the next day, and fallen asleep staring out his window as he noted the made up constellations they used to talk of.

At one point, when he was doing research into a potential black market that was happening in the fifth province, Logan had stumbled across a document stating the worth of individual organs if you were to sell them. The most expensive had been the heart, a ridiculous amount of gold coins being offered in exchange for it. He wondered if anyone had ever sold their heart because they knew that it was broken as it was, so could never be fixed.

Walking into the building, Logan had immediately been greeted by Henry. He rather found the man an excellent edition to the people who worked there.

"Good day, Chief of State. How can I help you?"

"Ah, Henry, wonderful to see you again. Is the First Minister available by any chance?"

"Indeed. His only meeting of the day isn't until this afternoon and I believe he will be sorting things out for that until lunch. Would you like me to send tea up?"

"No, that's perfectly alright. Perhaps later though. Regular room as usual, I assume?"

"Indeed."

Nodding to him as Henry walked past, Logan began trekking up the stairs, shifting the order of the papers around and around as he tried to figure out the best way to show the evidence that he had. The only way he was going to be able to persuade him to get an arrest warrant for the Virgil character would be if he was able to lay out his thoughts in the most precise way possible and give as much evidence as possible. He definitely saw someone on the roof that day, and the way they had looked had been exactly matching the description of the person who was wanted for robbing buildings in the second province. With everything all together, there was no way that Roman couldn't grant him permission to get an arrest warrant.

Another reason why he often came to Roman in person rather than just having a message sent to him about his intentions were the conversations. It was nice. Being able to sit there for hour after hour after hour without a worry for the outside world, only focusing on one another and the stories that they had from growing up. Logan supposed that was one of the positives of having someone live directly opposite you and playing with them since both of you were children. Whilst others would certainly have stories from times with their childhood best friend that they could speak of, it was usually restricted to a select few that were cherry picked from the remainder of their memories, broken up by the fact that they only saw them in school or on weekends or on very rare occasions as they lived far away. They had no such problem. If anything, they had too many stories that they wanted to tell people. Too many stories and recollections of events that Logan wanted to bring up and discuss, if only to have that nostalgic wave of reliving them wash over him a minimum of once more before life got in the way and they were whipped in directions the other couldn't follow.

Foot stepping up the last of the stairs, Logan headed down the hallway. He could hear Roman talking with who he presumed was Janus, although he was too far away to actually be able to tell what it was that they were saying. For a moment he thought he heard yelling, concern etching itself onto his face and his feet speeding up their pace to arrive directly outside the door, seeing with certainty the silhouette of two figures through the misted glass.

At least they're in there. Pushing the door open, Logan's mouth barely had time to part to announce his arrival before he froze, coming face to face with Roman and Janus embracing one another, locked at the lips in a way he didn't think Roman was capable of.

Part of him wanted to cough. Say something. Break up whatever this was by telling them that he was there. But he didn't. Instead, he slowly reclosed the door and pressed his back hard against the wall beside it.

Remember when it was mentioned that a heart physically couldn't break, but humans would frequently complain about their heart being broken? Logan was certain that, in that moment, he was the only human to have ever had their heart split on its own accord. He could feel it, tearing, burning up his chest, ripping a hole in it. Honestly, he thought he would have hurt less if someone had taken their hand and pushed it through his skin, gripping the beating thing inside of him with clawed fingers that scratched at the outside of it and yanked it out, leaving a space where it was meant to be. That way the pain would only be temporary and he could have it healed. This, he knew couldn't. There was no way anyone could fix this.

As the two began talking again within the room, Logan used the wall to push himself off and headed on back down the hallway. He'd have to show Roman his findings later. Actually, he thought, there was no need. Redirecting his path to where he knew Henry would be, making tea for them when they decided they wanted it, Logan scribbled a quick note on the top of the file explaining what was in there and gave it to the butler.

"Are you sure you do not want to deliver this to him yourself, sir? I'm sure he would understand it a lot more if you explained it in person."

Logan just gave a sad smile. "It'll be alright Henry. If he needs me tell him that I will be available for contact some time this evening as I have other business to attend to, but everything should be there. I would appreciate a message about whether my request was allowed."

"Of course, sir."

Henry gave a slight bow, looking Logan up and down to try and figure out what was wrong. The only thing Logan knew he wasn't doing was trying to read his thoughts. He wasn't entirely certain what the mans power was, but all he knew was that it wasn't telepathy. He would have felt it. If he was going to make an educated guess, than it would either be something that helped him with his job such as being able to recall every memory on command, or alternatively something not well developed that he never felt the need to use. Nodding a head in response, Logan stared down once more at the things that he had given to Henry and turned quickly, blinking back tears he didn't understand and letting his body take him where ever it wanted. Anywhere that wasn't here.

Virgil wasn't sure how long he was going to have to stay with Patton for, but it was going to be significantly longer than he may have wanted. He'd had a fair bit of business not long before the whole ordeal had happened, but that didn't mean that he would still have enough to keep up the rent on his building if he had to stay here for too long. He'd made a promise to Pat that, as long as he was staying with him, he wouldn't raid any more of the higher province houses and as such there was only going to be a certain amount of time before his funds started running dry; and he could not afford to have that happen. On the plus side, he was able to see Patton for more than a few hours which is how long their meetings usually lasted, and the two of them had been able to catch up on a variety of things which they had previously had no time to talk about. Like the different customers each of them had. Any interesting things that had occurred. The new dude who was First Minister.

Lounging across the mattress that Patton had put together for him, Virgil was staring at the ceiling, counting each of the cracks within the paint and slowly eating his way down a bread roll. The only thing he had insisted upon was buying the food for them, seeing as Pat was allowing him to stay there for free for as long as he needed. Tonight's 'feast' as Patton insisted on calling it had been a few apples which he had actually paid for and two bread rolls each, which he had also paid for. Considering the fact that it was so much easier just to slip them into your bag whilst the venders back is turned, Virgil was actually rather proud of himself for having paid for them with real money.

"From what I've heard he's a lot younger than the other ones. You don't hear much when you keep away from people, but bits and pieces of conversations tend to make their way into your ears."

"Virgil that's called eavesdropping."

"Technically, it isn't deliberate so it isn't eavesdropping."

Patton giggled slightly, tearing a new chunk of bread off and rolling it in the palm of his hand, pressing down on it until it was compact and had the consistency of airy dough. Picking the ball up, he popped it into his mouth and chewed to break it apart again. "Well yeah, he's apparently younger. I've got a newspaper somewhere, but I think he's 22?"

"Damn that is young. They're usually like, 40. Minimum."

With a new mouthful of bread, Patton just hummed in response and began searching around through the boxes of newspapers and books he was collecting. They were mostly organised, but some of them were just overflowing and spilling onto the floor so that it seemed kind of like a waterfall of books, seeping up to the top of the box and dropping onto the carpet. Moving different issues of the newspaper out of the way, Patton pulled out the one that had been released on the day of his election, grabbing either side of the folded sheets and pulling it open to read the article.

"Yeah, he's 22. By the looks of it he's the youngest First Minister we've ever had. Hey, he's the one who was in that scandal couple years back!" Shoving the rest of his bread roll into his mouth, Patton leant forward closer to the words and scanned over it whilst he ate. "Fire elemental" he mumbled out, wiping away crumbs as they sprayed out his mouth. "Roman Partum! Yeah, something happened with his brother."

"Partum?"

"Yep, apparently. There was a big thing where the entire house was set on fire and apparently he set his own brother on fire."

"Let me see."

Crawling over the floor, Virgil plonked himself directly beside Patton, taking the newspaper from him. Pat didn't even object, simply staring at the remainder of the roll which was still in Virgil's hand. Noticing, Virgil grinned and offered it to him, watching as the man snatched it up early and began to tear chunks off to shove into his cheeks, savouring every bite of food that he was being given. After a moment his attention returned back to the newspaper, using his hand to press out the creases in it and slowly beginning to read what it said. At first he hadn't been certain that he had heard the name correctly, but there it was, in bold letters across the top: "Roman Partum elected as State's youngest ever First Minister". Of course they spoke about his credentials. His past. Addressed the rumours as they always did. It had been a long time since he had heard the name 'Partum'. Alongside all the writing and explanations on how only the top two provinces were allowed to vote - of course those with money were allowed to whilst everyone else had to sit back and suffer - there was a large photo of him, accepting the sash that was given to every First Minister and waving at the cameras. The resemblance was uncanny. Staring at the half page that was dedicated to his face, Virgil came out of his daze as Patton gently tapped his arm.

"Everything alright?"

"You know how I told you about the two main people whilst I was with the cobras? Well, the one is this guy's brother. Obviously he's changed his name, but they look exactly the same bar a few things." Virgil's fingers traced over the picture, stopping at the neck where normally he would expect to see a chain. Nothing. "From what I remember of our conversations, the rumours are entirely wrong. The fire was to deliberately place it on Roman, but they were nothing to do with him at all."

A bird landed on the window, staring in at the two of them curiously. It stood there for a few seconds, pecked at the glass to see if it could get in and seemed extremely irritated to discover that it couldn't come in and join the party. Within half a minute Patton was stood up, pushing open the window slightly to sprinkle the last crumbs of the bread rolls onto the windowsill and standing back to watch the bird hop over, curiously tilting its head to examine them before pecking quickly to pick them all up as soon as possible. Poor thing was the same as a lot of people; starved and struggling to find a meal. Once it had finished even the tiniest of pieces, the bird chirped happily at Patton, flapped its wings a couple of times and flew off to find something else which it could use to satiate its hunger.

"From what you've told me about him, I'm not surprised. He's a monster of a person."

"He wasn't the worst." Sighing, Virgil refolded the newspaper and placed it to the side of him, spreading his arms out and flopping onto the mattress. "But it's safe to say that you didn't want to piss him off else you'd literally have your life to beg for."

"I still can't stand them. Any of them. I know it wasn't bad at first, you always say that. But you should never have gotten tied up in them. You know what happened to your parents, what nearly happened to you because of it. I just.." Patton trailed off, leaning his cheek against the window so that the cold seeped into his skin. "I don't want anything bad to happen to you Virge. You mean too much to me."

Tipping his head over to look at Patton, Virgil pushed up so he was sitting properly. "I won't let anything happen to me, Pat, now would I?"

"You say that, but I know how impulsive you can be. You've had ties to gangs before you were even born, you can't expect me to be wary of the idea that you may get dragged back into it, with or without your permission."

"Can you stop bringing up my parents?"

He could feel the cool air drifting through the slightly open window, blowing against his skin and making the areas that were already cold from the glass even cooler. A slight shiver ran through his body and he turned away, prising himself away from where he had been staring down the street as if the answer to all his questions was going to appear out of nowhere and help them both. "Am I not allowed to worry? Am I not allowed to be scared that something is going to happen? Because I am, Virgil. I am scared."

"Well maybe you should stop worrying about how my parents are going to affect me now and start worrying about your own!" The moment he said it, Virgil knew that it was wrong. He could feel the atmosphere change in an instant. Immediately standing up, Virgil held a hand up towards Patton. "Pat, I'm sorry I shouldn't-"

"No. You're right. Why should I worry about how your past when mine is just as bad?"

"Pat please-"

"Just leave it Virgil." Patton looked up at him, cheeks stained wet. Part from the perspiration off the window. Part from tears. "I have paperwork to sort out downstairs," he mumbled, rushing past Virgil and heading out the room.

It had taken a long time before Virgil asked Patton about what had happened to his parents. Up until then the only thing that he had known was that Emile had been raising him since he was tiny, becoming the parent he never had and doing an incredible job at it. But it had come up in conversation one evening, although Virgil wasn't sure how exactly, and Patton had frozen up. Even though he was so much older, he didn't know how to word it. In the end, after Virgil had calmed him down and repeatedly reassured him that he didn't have to tell him if he didn't want to, Patton had just shook his head and told him to sit down

Almost everyone in the bottom three provinces has been in debt at one point or another, ranging from the smallest of things of a few tin coins where a friend bought them some food, going all the way up to debts surrounding stealing things from someone or not paying off the gangs to allow you to stay where you were. More often than not, as long as it wasn't a ridiculously large amount, they were written off as soon as possible to prevent more and more being added to the total time. Sometimes you were able to make a payment deal, giving up your wealth a bit at a time until they were off your back and wishing you a good day with the tip of a hat and the heavy shutting of a door. This was, of course, only the case if you were actually lucky. A lot of gangs refused the over time payment options in case the person ran off and went off the radar to prevent paying it. So immediate, full payment was required.

Whilst Virgil's parents had been in debt for not paying their rent on the flat alongside a variety of different things, Patton's straight up had gambled away everything they had. Emile was significantly older than Patton, by ten years to be precise, and had begun doing jobs here and there from the moment he was able to, saving up money with the intention of getting his own place at the first opportunity. Given the nature of the fifth province, this had begun not long after Pat was born. And he was doing well. Cleaning places, delivering packages, only occasionally going in to the more illegal parts by using his powers on people who the various gangs were 'interviewing'. At fifteen he was starting to try and figure out where he should go, trying to determine what he was going to do once he was out of the family house.

Emile always had been over protective.

It wasn't uncommon knowledge that Patton's parents were the type to take up any bet offered to them and would more often than not fail so spectacularly that the shock wave of their losses was sent ripping through the streets and anyone could feel the dread that began to kick in as it built. But that was the thing about addiction, Patton thought. No matter how much you knew you needed to stop, you never could. Not unless you really really wanted to. And his parents saw no reason to want to. Just one win and they'd be set.

Patton had been sat at home that day, only five so barely old enough to even remember what his parents looked like. You shouldn't have to try and remember their faces, it should be clear. But whenever he takes the time to close his eyes and take a breath and imagine their features, the things that defined them and which could help him remember, there's nothing more than shadow bodies with blurred out heads that had no true meaning behind them. Emile had removed all photos of them, so he supposed he never would remember what they looked like. Well, he had been at home with his parents. The night before they had been frantic, searching around the house for anything and everything. Picking it up, laying it all out on the table. Writing a letter out and handing it to some guy who had turned up at the door, repeating words he couldn't understand entirely. Now they just seemed so calm. Patton was happy when his parents were calm, because it meant that the loud boots wouldn't kick at their door again. They scared him.

"Pat, sweetie," his mother had said, kneeling down to be in his eyeline where he was stood scrawling random lines across the wall with a pencil. "We need to get some stuff for you to take with you on a trip, do you think you could do that?"

Trips were a foreign concept, something that didn't happen, but Emile told him stories that he'd read in old books and the adventurers in them went on trips to save the world and become heroes, and being a hero sure sounded like a good idea. The bag was small, really just a few pieces of fabric sewn together in a skewed way, a hasty job but Patton gripped it with both of his tiny hands as he filled it. A couple of sets of clothes. The pencil. And an old bear that Emile had gotten for him as a birthday present. They had done their best to make it look as good as possible and Patton was determined to make Em proud and take good care of it. 

"What trip is it?"

"Well, I think you'll find it fun." His mother had smiled, leaning down and picking him up, placing him in one of her arms so he could latch onto her shoulder. "You'll get to go somewhere new and exciting! Just like Em tells you about."

"Is it just me? Aren't you coming?"

"I'm afraid I can't come with you this time Pattie, but I'll see you again eventually. Hey, look." Reaching into his bag, she grabbed the bear and slowly lifted it up so that the head poked out the side. "Look who wanted to say hello." Patton giggled, reached forward and pulling it out by its ear. "Have you chosen a name yet?"

Turning the bear around to face him head on, Patton squinted his eyes. He was trying to look like those old people when they're choosing something. He'd seen people staring at tiny squares of paper and they were very important decisions, and so was this, so it made sense to also make the same face whilst he was choosing the name. As a thought popped into his head, he squealed and turned quickly to face his mum. "I'll call him Emmy! Cause Em was the one who got him for me!"

"That's amazing! Now you'll be able to take Emmy with you and he will remind you of Emile."

That caused Patton to frown, staring down at the dulled eyes of the bear. It looked like it was crying. "Can't I bring the real Em with me?"

"It's only you this time Pat. But I'll tell Emile a message from you, how's that?"

"No! I wanna see Em. He should be home now. I don't want to leave him behind, what if he gets scared? And who will tell me stories? No, I want Em to come with me as well."

"Patton, that's not going to happen-"

A sharp rapping on the door interrupted her train of thought. Shifting Patton's weight so that he sat more comfortably on her arm, she briefly moved a few pieces of blonde hair out of his face and tried to reassure him with a smile. Patton already didn't like this. Nobody knocked on the door unless there was going to be really loud noises afterwards, and almost never did his mum smile when there was someone at the door. He also knew it wasn't Emile. He always just walked in and came over to ask what Patton had been doing, taking his shoes off and stacking them neatly side by side. They were always too big for Patton, but that didn't stop him from trying them on and stomping around like some dinosaur. More often than not he fell over, but it was fun. The door opening, and the man who was stood there, were not fun.

The two of them spoke for a while. Patton couldn't remember what they had been talking about as he had been distracted by a small hole that went right through the left ear of his bear. They had spare fabric somewhere so Emmy should be fixed in no time. Lifting it up, Patton closed his one eye and used the other to stare directly through it as if it was a telescope. He could see the wall on the other side, the greyish wallpaper that had spots all over it that hadn't been there before he didn't think.

"You're Patton, then?"

Pulling Emmy closer to his chest, Patton turned to look at the man who was talking to him. He was trying to smile, but it wasn't natural to him and so instead of looking comforting and inviting he looked terrifying, like one of the creatures that always tried to attack Patton when he had the bad dreams and he woke up and asked Em if he could sleep beside him.

"Go on Pat, answer the man."

"Yep."

"Well aren't you just a talker. Better be worth it in the long run."

"I assure you, he has great potential. Plus I already cleared everything with your boss, so any problems you should go to him."

The man had stopped trying to smile and Patton wasn't quite sure if that made him look more or less intimidating. He didn't like this man.

"Yeah, I know that," he growled, sighing and motioning for Patton's mother to hand him over. "I'll get going then and not keep you. I'll tell the boss that the debt's been covered in full."

When new hands began to try and take him, Patton began screaming. This wasn't right and although he was too young to know what was happening and he wasn't sure who this man was, there was no way he was going to let go of his mother. His hands had gripped as tightly as he could manage into her shirt, fingers digging right through into her skin which would almost definitely leave marks afterwards. His father had just been stood behind her, staring with a blurred face as if this wasn't anything new to him. He didn't care. But Patton would not stop screaming. He would not stop screaming even as his mother attempted to prise each tiny finger off her bit by bit, he would not stop screaming even as the scary guy pulled on his waist and tried to separate them, he would not stop screaming even as he shoved Emmy back into his bag and used his freed hand to get more hold on his mother.

"No!" His throat hurt so much and his eyes would not stop crying, and he wasn't sure how to stop it without the man putting him down. "No! No I'm not going! I wanna see Em! I want Emile! I want Em to come back please!" Pulling the last of the tiny fist off, his mother let out a sigh of relief and he was yanked backwards, crushed into an unrelenting grip within the mans arms, reaching forward to try and get to his parents.

"Let go, I want to go home! Mum! No, no, no!"

_"Emile! I want Emile!"_

"Hey, hey Pat it's ok alright? I'm here now, it's alright."

Blinking his eyes to remove the blurriness from the tears, Pat took deep breaths to replace the air he'd lost in his lungs and looked up to see Emile stood there, smiling down at him and stroking the top of his head.

"See? I'm back. And I'm not going to let them take you anywhere, alright? I'll make sure they don't. But how would you feel if me and you went on an adventure? Just us two, and you won't have to leave my side once if you don't want to. How's that sound?"

Patton nodded softly, reaching out with all the energy he had left to muster so that Emile could take him into his own arms. Continuously stroking the top of his head. For the rest of the time that the man was there, Pat had remained curled up against Emile, crushing the Emmy bear between their two bodies and hanging on as if he was his absolute last life force and letting go would mean that he was taken again. Emile had ended up raiding a secret stash of money he had showed Patton once. Jars and jars of gold coins tucked right at the back of his wardrobe underneath various items of clothing to keep it hidden. It had gone down since Pat last saw it, and the remainder of it was handed on over to the man. He'd seemed reluctant to at first, shooting glances at Patton every minute or so as if he was seriously debating just snatching the kid and running. Yet all the money for the debt was there, so there wasn't really any need and if it meant that he wouldn't have to put up with that horrific crying again he was in. So he grabbed the money, bid them farewell, and left.

Regarding his promise that Patton wouldn't have to let go of him if he didn't want to, Emile kept to it. He held Patton in his arms for as long as he could manage whilst he argued with their parents, and only was forced to put him down so that he could pack all their things to leave. Even then he let Patton grip onto his leg, a dead weight on the limb but a significantly calmer one and that's all that mattered. In the end, the two of them had walked out of the house to their father screaming about how ungrateful they were and their mother trying to make excuses. Patton hadn't seen his parents since then, and he wasn't sure that Emile had either.

Obviously he had been lying when he said he had paperwork to do downstairs. He always had it done as early in advance as he could with the looming threat of a spot check constantly hung over his head. The real reason he had wanted to go downstairs was because he hated forcing Virgil to see him cry.

Frankly, he hated crying. So much. It made his throat sore and his eyes red and puffy and when that happened all he could imagine were clunky, massive hands wrapping themselves around him and dragging him away. So he avoided crying as much as he could, and on the times when it all became too much he had locked himself away. Just as Emile had been his main base of support, Patton was Virgil's, and he was meant to be the on who was strong enough for both of them. It wasn't worth having Virgil realise that maybe he wasn't as strong as he claimed.

Walking into one of the back rooms that he used for healing, Patton paused. The shop was empty bar the two of them, and this room was dimly lit from the light that was shining through the window. Right in the centre of the room was as light that, when you pulled the cord to turn it on, shone out bright enough to fill even the darkest corner. He didn't turn it on but it was a relief to know it was there. What he wanted wasn't the light or any of the medication or even really to be in this room, but instead he wanted to move across a box of empty bottles labelled with different names of medicines he didn't use anymore, reaching inside the hole in the wall behind it and withdrawing the singular item inside it.

At one point he had tried throwing Emmy out. It was childish for a grown adult to still have a bear that they keep with them after all these years. The wear was clear, patches of mis-matched fabrics having been used to piece him back together. Of course he had tried, but failed and ended up just holding the bear for the rest of that evening.

One thing which he had noticed since the incident was that the eyes no longer looked like they were crying. They had grown shinier and brighter, still scratched with patches sanded away from one escapade where it had been knocked repeatedly off the bed, or from where he had it in his bag and fell on his back. But eyes could always contain things that didn't look like they were supposed to, they didn't have to look perfect, as long as the light behind them was clearly still there it was alright.

"Pat?"

Jumping, Patton spun around and hid the bear behind his back. "Oh, Virgil," he sniffed, quickly freeing one of his hands and using it to wipe away the last batch of tears.

"I really am sorry Pat. I shouldn't have bought it up, it was so stupid of me."

"Really, you don't need to apologise V. I know you were just getting defensive and I shouldn't have pushed you to begin with. I'm fine now though, see?" 

Virgil stared for a moment, smiling sadly. Walking forward, he gently pulled Patton's arm around so that the bear lay flat across his palms between them. "You know," he whispered, adjusting the ear so it wasn't folded, "I'm glad that you never got rid of this bear. It meant so much to you and it would have been sad to see it go."

"I suppose. Still a little childish though, don't you think?"

A quiet laugh echoed around the room. "There's nothing wrong with being a little childish, now is there?"

"No. No there isn't."

With one movement, Virgil picked up the bear, dusted imaginary specs of dirt of the top of its head and turned it around to face Patton. Both of them hesitated, Patton using this time to pull his sleeve down over his hand and utilising the fabric so that it soaked up any remainders of the salt water that was stained on his cheeks. Lifting one of the arms of the bear up, Virgil grinned a little and made it look like it was waving towards Patton, the younger man laughing and lifting his own arm to weakly wave back. 

"We're grown men playing with a tiny bear. We must look ridiculous." 

By now Virgil was delicately making Emmy look as if he was dancing around, arms waving wildly all over the place and legs hopping up and down in the most irregular rhythm possible. "So what? You're allowed to look ridiculous every once in a while. Now watch." Bringing the bear up to Patton's head height, he slowly began to turn it upside down. The ears flopped over the side, eventually pointing directly towards the floor, and the arms and legs hung limply, pointing downwards in an almost comical way. Not thinking about what he was doing, Patton had begun to move his head to stay in line with the bear, ending up with his head so far around it was close enough to his chest that he could hear the heavy thumping of his head, the shallow breaths that were progressively getting deeper and steadier. And then Virgil whipped the bear back up with a sudden movement and Patton followed suit, laughing all the way. 

"Here." Virgil offered the bear back over to its rightful owner. His hand hovered for a second, perhaps a minute - no one was keeping count - before wrapping around the brown body and bringing it close to his chest. "I know what you went through was horrible, Pat. You should have never had to deal with that. But please don't think that you have to act strong all the time. Everyone's allowed to be weak when they need to and there's nothing wrong with that, even if 'when they need to' is really often. I'm here if you ever want to talk, but don't feel forced. I just want you to feel alright." 

"Thank you, V. I mean it by the way, you don't have to feel bad about bringing it up. I mentioned the whole topic first so really its my fault." Patton smiled softly. "And you know, I think I'll be alright. Actually alright." 

And for a second, with the tattered, torn apart and pieced back together bear pressed firmly against his chest, Patton could have sworn he felt a little heart beat within it. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW//  
> Implications of rape (its not directly mentioned), excessive alcohol consumption, death/murder, injury imagery, mentions and descriptions of child abuse

Have you ever felt your heart beating against your chest so hard that you think it might burst out of your chest? Felt your breath become so shallow it was almost non-existent and threatened to burn your lungs to shreds with the lack oxygen coating them? Wondered why your mind was racing so fast to the point that only a few thoughts were coherent and it became a case of picking the ones that pushed forward the most? It was not a pleasant experience, but over time, when this becomes the norm in your line of work, you get used to it and instead of beginning to panic about how you were going to be sure that you have your eye on the target, you just release a breath and pull the trigger.

The more important a person was, the higher his price. He had killed people for a variety of reasons but the most common was petty revenge. You'd think that it was to removal rivals, or to get money owed to them, or for inheritance. But he had honestly lost count of the number of times that someone had dropped the gold coins into his palm so they clanged against one another with a metallic ring, handed him a sheet of paper with a name and a picture, and began mumbling about how they'd walked into them one time in the street and never apologised or had told them that the soup they made tasted too salty. It was such a stupid reason to have them killed, but who was he to judge? It kept food in front of him and was a fun little side job when he was bored.

This one, the buyer was a woman. Young to be honest, far too young to be wishing death upon another human to the point of hiring a man to kill them. She had spoken very little, but gave him a picture and told him to take them out any way that he could. She had seemed almost numb, completely uncaring as he laid out the details to her, told her how they would be dead by sundown and that she would be able to confirm it the following day. It wasn't often they were entirely numb, and he didn't push for answers. He just did his job.

Apparently the guy worked for one of the gangs. A low down one without much influence, the Hounds or something like that. Every day he went into a bar in a remote area of the province, stayed inside for about two and a half hours and then exited again, very much drunk, slurring his words together and flirting with any woman that walked past. The woman had sneered at this point whilst telling him, quickly handing him a torn piece of paper with the address of the bar on it before continuing. Dark brown hair, pale grey eyes, a slight limp on the right leg from when he fell off a roof a couple of years back. Always wore a silver necklace with a locket on it. Contained poison if he was ever kidnapped, although he was hardly worth kidnapping and she wasn't sure what the hell anyone would ever want to get out of him that was worth spending the effort of yanking him off the streets. More often then not he would also wear a pair of glasses that he didn't need as a 'disguise'. By the time she'd finished listing off everything he would need to know about the target, he was convinced that this dude thought he was the most important person in the State and that everyone wanted him for themselves. In reality, he was a right sleazebag who even he wouldn't fuck.

With his natural curiosity he had inquired if there was any specific reason why she wanted him taking out. Some people liked to go on a massive rant about how the target had wronged them and how this was their way of gaining ultimate revenge without having to directly be involved in the death. It was fun when they did that because he got to get an insight into what sorts of people he was actually dealing with. One of these days he'd come across a psychopath or a serial killer. Someone who wanted to just watch people die but really didn't have the heart to do it themselves. Or, alternatively, some cocky, rich gang leader who had way too much time and money and had decided to make themselves a little hunting game with people who had wronged them. Now that would be something. He may even ask if he could do a little hunting of his own if that was the case.

She'd just frozen up and said the it didn't matter as long as she paid him. She wasn't wrong, but that didn't make him any less disappointed. Yet, he had learned long ago that pushing too hard was either going to make your customers absolutely detest you, or it was going to make them decide to take their business elsewhere, and more often than not both. Which is exactly why he had lost a fair amount of customers when he had first become an assassin. Learn whilst you're young and pick up from your mistakes afterwards.

After the initial introduction to his target, the real fun was able to begin.

First of all he'd changed. He was pretty noticeable when he wasn't careful, and that was absolutely the last thing that he wanted right this second. Nothing was worse than an assassin who was noticeable. Actually it was one of the top rules on this list he had made a few years back, briefly thrown together so that he always knew what to tell people if they ever asked for help when getting into the whole killing business.

Rule Three: Always blend in.

This was promptly followed by rule four which he had decided upon pretty quickly after creating the previous one. Technically it could be argued to fit in with rule three, he pondered as he tucked the dark green shirt in and donned a dark jacket that he had bought once purely for the aesthetic, and also because it worked well with his assassin outfit.

Rule Four: Never have a gang symbol showing.

Loyalty was dangerous, and there was no better way to have drawn attention to you than to have a gold chain swinging around your neck for all to see, with the bright yellow snake standing out more than an authentic piece of jewellery in any of the stores. They went underneath his shirt. Sat against his chest, next to where his heart should be, and reminded him with the cool material that they were made of that he belonged to someone. Now starting at rule three seemed a bit weird, and he supposed that really he should always start at rule one, but there was no dramatics in that and it was a lot more fun to just build up the tension as he went along and only made the grand reveal right when the interest were peaked and as high as they were going to get.

He'd followed the guy into the bar earlier on in the day, only for the first half an hour or so else it would be too suspicious. Got the cheapest drink possible and sat drinking watered down alcohol that frankly just tasted like dirty tap water. If he got ill from this later he was going to wreck havoc on this place. His target, it seemed, did not seem as affected by the poor quality of what he was drinking, and nor did he appear to care about how much he was actually paying. Within the time he sat there, sipping at the poor excuse for a drink, the other guy had downed at least two shots of vodka and was on his second glass of something that could be guessed to be whiskey. And he was already getting tipsy. It seemed like he was using it as a confidence boost. Not long before he was scheduled to leave, he watched with immense amounts of dismay as the man walked up to one of the servers and began chatting her up. Her discomfort was evident, and if it wasn't for the low cover he was trying to keep, he would have gone and knocked him off there and then. The second she was safely behind the bar, however, he tipped her a couple of gold coins and walked back out into the shaded streets.

Up next was one of his favourite parts; finding a good spot. You'd be surprised at how good he was with a sniper gun. He'd been gifted one a while back after mentioning to a friend that he wanted to get into the whole hired assassin, can-be-payed-to-kill-anyone sort of area regarding work. It had a sight on it with a telescope attached that could zoom in and out, a silencer on the end to muffle the little amount of sound that still came out of it and was pretty easy to carry all things considered. How the hell they had managed to find it in this dump was beyond him. Like hell was he going to complain, though.

Eyes darting upwards as he walked past a group of people leant against walls, smoking who knows what between their fingers, scanning past the murky sky and smoky chimneys onto the concrete, flat-top rooves of the buildings opposite the bar which could act as both a sanctuary and a place for him to stay whilst he waited. One a couple of buildings down the street particularly caught his eye. Blacked out windows covered by wooden boards. Front door barricaded shut with nails. Overall shape was about as square as you could get. And if he was very much not mistaken, there was a ladder around the back of a nearby gang hideout that he could use to climb up and then just walk across to where he needed to be. Bingo.

Rule two: Find the best place to position yourself as soon as possible.

Briefcases had never really been his style, so the fabric bag slung over his shoulder held just about everything he needed. That fit with rule three. When you want to blend in, shiny silver suitcases weren't the best. 

Climbing, he realised for the first time that it was actually cold. Not bitterly cold to the point where he felt like his fingertips were going to fall off at any moment and his limbs became so stiff that it took all his effort just to move them to gain some heat back into his blood. Just cold enough to make his breath turn into little clouds of water vapour, swirling around in front of him like smoke and scraping slightly against his nose and neck, leaving its icy touch as nothing more than a lingering afterthought in the night. It was also dark. Obviously he could see thanks to the illumination coming from a variety of different buildings so there wasn't any reason to worry about not being able to see the target. It was more one of those observations that you just make. Like when you go around to someone's house for the first time. You ignore the big things such as the holes in the walls which they can't afford to fix, the leak in the ceiling, the carpet that's worn down to the point of the floor underneath being visible. Instead, you say how you like the colour of the paint or observe that you get good levels of electricity or that it seems like a nice place to come home to.

Whenever it was night time, he couldn't help but think about the first time he'd done this. Not every night of course, that would hinder his job the rest of the time and would really mean he never did anything. But when he was staking out a target, his thoughts shifted and he allowed himself to remember whilst his hands completed their automatic task of setting it all up.

Honest to the Gods, the first kill had been an accident. 

He had never really.. got along with his family. To say the least. So in order to feel like he had some sort of control over his life, he would climb out his window using a rope which he hid at the back of his cupboard and go wandering around the province. It was nice, with trees and buildings lavishly decorated and decorations dotted around everywhere to make you stop and stare. Usually he'd just go climb a tree and see who he could spot and throw leaves at. However this time he had decided to wander further, away from the safety of the centre and move into the outskirts that edged their way into the lower provinces. Not a lot really changed, but he'd walked past one person sat with his forehead against the wall as he threw up which he most definitely had not seen before. It was slightly mesmerising. He'd stopped to stare, frowning in curiosity. People being so drunk that they threw up wasn't something that happened right in the main centre where he lived; too many reputations to uphold and journalists waiting around every corner to snap a photo and paint you badly in their latest scoop as the front page news story. So he had just stopped and stared and watched as this person emptied their entire previous meal onto the street.

"Get off me you freak!"

At that point the shouting had begun. It wasn't too far and as a boy who wanted to know everything, he had decided that it would be a fun little adventure at the ripe old age of 16 to go see what was happening. Once he had tried telling this story to someone he used to be friends with. He got to this point before seizing up and changing his mind, telling a different story about how someone else had come in and pulled the woman out from the cracks between the houses. How someone else had rushed in and punched the guy in the face so hard his nose broke and blood began gushing down his face. How he had rushed forward in a flash of blind range and how someone else had panicked and shoved with all his might to push him away and how someone else had stood frozen, watching as the man lost his balance and fell back and hit his head against the wall before crumpling in a lifeless heap on the floor. How somebody else had not moved until the blood had trickled its way onto his shoes. How that someone else had remained frozen until the woman touched his shoulder gently and he sprinted as fast as he could to go hide up a tree and get away from there.

It had been on the television the following day. The woman had testified to the detectives, telling the about how the killer had done it accidentally and was trying to save her. Maybe she did remember his face and was protecting him. Maybe she didn't. She just claimed that it was too dark for her to see which was why she wasn't able to help them put out a proper picture and a search warrant.

His family had noticed that something was wrong with him, but they had never cared about how he was feeling and so instead of asking why he was poking at his bacon the following morning with his fork, pushing it around the plate with a vacant stare, they had instead just told him to either give it to his brother or eat it. It didn't take long for the food to swap plates. The worst part of it all was that he wasn't sure how much he actually regretted it. It hung over him, sure. Like a swarm of bees. Buzzing in his ear and making everything fuzzy and having it so that he barely knew what he was doing for most of the day because his mind was only able to conjure the picture of the fresh corpse, eyes wide and staring at him. Hating him. He didn't regret it though. The man had it coming and would have died one way or another, he had just assist in making that happen sooner whilst protecting someone else at the same time.

Weeks he spent thinking about it. Not days, weeks. The more that he thought about it, the more that he came to the conclusion that he didn't really mind that the guy had died. He didn't. It haunted his every waking moment and made him bolt upright in the middle of trying to sleep because his vision flashed with the body crumpling to the ground and the crack of his skull against the solid stone echoed around his skull. But he didn't mind. There was a big difference between feeling kinda guilty about doing something, and being so guilty that you could never do it again.

If nothing else that was good came out of the whole ordeal, the one thing that did was that it finally gave him a reason to leave the house and find himself a place in the fifth province. Not without some flames and an argument with his brother, but that was besides the point.

Clicking the sniper gun into position, he let out a sigh and sat himself directly beside it. Now was the boring part. Waiting

Rule five: If you don't have any patience, learn some.

Obviously he knew that the target was going to be in there for about two and a half hours, and it had already been one, but waiting for the rest of the time seemed to drag on. It was as if time slowed down to an almost standstill and was taunting him, speeding up at times as he suddenly became aware of his surroundings after having zoned out and stared at the ground for twenty minutes. Immediately afterwards it would stop once more and would only begin up again when he became less aware of it. Time was weird like that.

When he could hear a heated confrontation from within the bar his gut spun circles and he knew it was time. Gut feelings were the best. Kneeling so that one knee was up and his hands were positioned on the gun, he took one breath in and looked down the scope. The guy was being dragged out by a couple of more muscular people, shouting obscene comments at them and trying to defend himself by saying that he only wanted to be nice to the server. By the looks of it he had had a drink thrown at him. He grinned. Served the fucker right. Throwing him onto the ground outside the bar, the two people glared at him before returning inside and slamming the door with a thud.

"Well I don't need your pathetic drinks anyway!" He cried out, punching the door weakly. "I've got better drinks to be." He had no clue what the hell he was saying, that much was clear.

Taking slow breaths in and out, he watched for a moment as the man became more agitated at the lack of response from people inside the bar. They had barricaded the door from the inside so that there was no way for him to get him, and the more he pushed the louder he became, insisting that they let him in. He'd forgotten a handkerchief. He'd forgotten his money. He just wanted to talk. So what if he had been flirting with some of the servers, he was a right steal and they should be falling head over heels for him. Snorting slightly, he had to move his line of vision to be back where he wanted it. This man really did think that the light shone out of him. The woman had not been lying about that.

Moving the end of the barrel slightly, the centre dot on the sight positioned itself directly onto the mans head. He was stumbling around a lot which didn't help, running his mouth off as if that was going to help him get back in to the bar. After another couple of awfully formed punches at the closed door, he spat on the mat and turned entirely around, directly facing the way that he needed to be. Perfection. Releasing the breath, his finger twitched and the bullet soared its way through the air. Shooting out of the barrel at an insane speed and hitting its target within seconds. Halfway through a step, the man just collapsed straight to the floor. Someone would find him sooner or later. Leaning away from the scope, he cracked his neck to the side, stretching his arms around his body to loosen up, knuckles popping as he did so and fingers instantly wrapping themselves around the dagger hidden on the inside of his jacket pocket, pointing towards the blurred figure behind him.

"Nice of you to join me."

"I didn't think you'd realised that I was here."

"You should know me by now, why wouldn't I know? Rule number one."

And there it was.

Rule number one: Be aware of everything going on around you at all times. Everything.

"Would you mind putting the knife down? You know that you're not going to attack me and the point of it is dangerously close to my chest."

Chuckling, his arm dropped to his side and the weapon returned itself into his pocket. "What exactly do you want?" Mumbling slightly as he moved, he began disassembling the sniper, putting the pieces into his bag delicately as to not break any of them. "We didn't end on good terms last time and I thought you never wanted to see me again."

"I saw you earlier walking down the street. You began shifting your face again so that you couldn't be recognised, but you can see the dent of the two chains under your shirt."

Hand pressing against the snakes, his fingers traced their outline that pushed its way out of the fabric. He'd never realised that you could tell what they were. "Doesn't answer my question." Bag pulled up over his shoulder, he looked over the scene he had just caused for a moment. Some poor pedestrian had found the body, tapped it a couple of times and turned it over to see the bullet hole going through his head, directly between his eyes. Who knew someone could scream that loudly. Now everyone was crowding around the body, prodding it, the people who had dragged him out stuttering out their words and insisting that he was very much alive when they left him. Then he turned.

"Maybe I just wanted to talk to you."

"Bullshit. If I remember correctly, you have told me multiple times recently that you hate my existence and never wanted to see me again."

"In my defence you did put a cigarette out on my neck."

"Oh yeah, how did that heal up, baby? I really hope it left a little reminder for you there of what I'm capable of." His voice had grown dangerously close to a growl. The bag was quickly readjusted and he walked past to the edge of the building as fast as he could physically walk without risking damaging the gun. Had to be careful when you were handling equipment as delicate and expensive as this.

"For the love of Gods Remus can't we talk?"

His toes were dangling over the edge of the building, hanging over the dark abyss that was really over several meters. Even then, if he jumped he would risk seriously injuring or even breaking one or both of his legs, and that was not something that he could afford to risk right about now. Climbing down would also require that he turned around, but in turn that would mean looking at his companion and he did not want to do that. Staring over the grey landscape surrounding them it was then.

"I've tried that multiple times before and you hated me for it. Why don't you remind me, oh dear old friend of mine, why did we stop talking in the first place?" He paused for a second. Partly hoping for a reply. Partly knowing he wouldn't get one. "I never did figure it out. Well that's a lie. It took a while for me to figure it out. We had been so close and there had been no problems between us at any point whilst you were working at the club, so there actually wasn't any reason for you to change the way you did. It was like something had snapped. I was thinking about it the other day, you know. Whilst it was quiet. And I realised something. You weren't angry, were you? You were scared." Remus couldn't help but laugh. It was all so absurd. "You had overnight become absolutely terrified of me. So tell me, was it Janus who told you about my side jobs? One of the performers? A guard? Perhaps you were friends with somebody who had hired me before. I certainly don't know, because you refused to speak to me."

Silence certainly is deafening when you want an answer. Remus had always hated silence as it was, with how it hurt his ears and made him start to think about things that he would much rather not think about. It was even worse when you wanted - needed - someone to give you an answer and they just weren't saying anything. He had never heard anyone say that silence hurt them, but it hurt him. It really did. It was louder than noise in a way, stabbing at his skull. Stabbing so hard and wanting to crush every bone in his body and it always, always, tried to slice empty words into his skin from the ghosts that were there but couldn't speak. It was literally deafening and the longer that it went on, the more he was certain that he was going to die in silence one day.

"I'm not angry if that's what you're worried about. I'm not going to kill you or push you off this building. I'm not that petty. I just want to know who told you."

Maybe if he cracked his knuckles it would buy him someone time for the heavy breathing to die down and for words to actually be spoken. Starting on his left hand, he made the effort to crack each one individually, going across from left to right and then double, triple checking that there was no way for him to be able to do them again. There was only so long that he could stand the silence for, and it was beginning to reach the point where he was going to start screaming if he didn't make the silence shut up.

"Answer me damn it!" His eyes screwed shut. Body leant dangerously over the edge of the building. "Someone had to tell you, how else would you have found out? I never mentioned it. And you never saw me. So who? Who?!"

"Janus."

It was hardly a whisper, but enough that the silence stopped pounding at his skull whilst attempting to shatter him in to pieces. "I guessed as much. I would ask whether he mentioned it directly to you or in passing but I'm not entirely sure that I want to know the answer to that." Eyes fluttered open. "Thanks for stopping by Virgil, but there's really nothing left to see. My work is already done."

"Remus wait. Please."

"Why the hell should I wait?" Spinning on his heel, he slammed to a stop only inches away from where Virgil had walked up behind him. "Give me one good reason why I should wait. Because I tried so hard to get you to talk to me and now, NOW, you want to talk? You're not the only one who gets to decide when we do things Virgie, and the time I gave to you in which I was ready to talk has gone way too long ago for you to be in time. You are the one who left, not me. You're the one who left." Both of them wanted to speak, not really knowing the exact words to show the exact emotion that they were feeling, that they wanted to express. Below, the chattering how gone down and Remus was pretty sure he had heard somebody moving the body out of the middle of the street. Well, dragging it. No one was going to mourn the mans death, but there would certainly be people celebrating it. Such a pitiful life. If people will laugh on your grave instead of crying, then the people are the problem. If there is no one there to make you a grave to begin with, then you are the problem.

"You kept my chain."

He'd forgotten about that. Reaching into his shirt, he pulled the two chains out and let them fall back into position. They always did contrast with the green he wore, but Remus had never really minded that. The only problem with them that he had was that they made him property. Not a person, not a human with emotions and feelings, but someone's property to do with him however they saw fit.

"I know I put it in your coat pocket but I never actually expected you to keep it." Virgil smiled slightly and Remus hated it. "I thought that maybe you'd throw it away or rehome it with a new member. I mean, I did burn my outfit on stage so it was pretty obvious I had no intentions of coming back."

"I don't know why I kept it either. I knew you weren't going to come back. I did. But you can't blame me for hoping that you'd change your mind."

Virgil bought his hand up steadily, separating the two charms that hung at the end and ran his thumb gently over the yellow engravings with such a familiarity that it was unnerving to feel it again. It was unnerving to be able to identify every slight crack or scratch on its surface and from that alone, as well as a faint dent on the back from when he'd dropped it one time, be able to tell exactly which was his. It wasn't necessarily a familiarity that he didn't like, but it certainly wasn't one he wanted to repeat. "I was scared of you." He admitted finally. "I was scared because I didn't know what to think of someone who was capable of killing so easily, just for the money. I've been more scared of J to be honest, but you were a close second. It mostly.. it was because you seemed so normal, ya know?" A very light laugh choked its way out of his throat. "J you can tell is dangerous, he just looks the part and within minutes of being near him you know. But with you, it's like you're just a regular person trying to get by with your dancing and performances and your shape shifting and no one would be able to tell any different."

"You ignored me. Blatantly told me you hated me. Burned your outfit on stage. Refused to even acknowledge my existence. Because I seemed normal?"

"Yes! Okay? Yes. I don't know what you want me to do Rem. I don't know whether you want me to beg for forgiveness or apologise or start rambling about how I was being irrational, or whether you'd rather I just push you off the edge of the building and yell and say again how much I hate you and that I wished you were dead. What do you want from me?"

"I want you to be honest for once in your life."

"Fine. I miss you."

Blinking three times, Remus froze. His voice was hoarse. "What did you just say?"

"I miss you. Not the club, not the gang none of that. You." Virgil let go of the chain and it hit against the other one with a metallic crash. "You were one of my closest friends Rem. Ever. I could count Patton as one, but technically Em adopted me so he's like my brother. But you were always just there for me. No matter what you didn't judge and you gave me tips and you were an amazing friend. I didn't know what to do after Janus told me that you were an assassin for hire because it didn't fit in to what I knew you to be. I wanted.. I needed to see you at work before I could believe it."

The air had grown colder around Remus. Heavier. It no longer rested on his shoulders but pushed down on them, forcing him into the ground. It slapped at his skin and tore pieces of skin off so that he was more and more exposed. His bone were shivering despite being entrapped in the heated meat sack that he deemed to be a body. Not that he had ever liked his original one. Shape shifting was useful for things other than work. Immediately after he had noticed this, he also noticed how he had forgotten how awful the air felt when it got into his lungs. He would breath in and fill them and instead of relief, it felt like needles stabbing him from the inside, trying to puncture his heart and spill his blood so that it dripped off the side onto civilians who had no idea what was happening.

"And what now?"

"What do you mean?"

"Now that you've seen me work. Now that you've watched me kill someone 'just for money'. Now that you can finally believe that what you heard was true and that I'm not entirely the person who you believed that I was. What now? What happens now, Virgil?"

Virgil opened his mouth to reply, hesitated, closed it again and opened it once more. He hadn't even spoken and Remus already knew exactly what he was going to say. You learn these sorts of things, over the years, and when its with someone who you classed as your closest friend for a long time, you can tell what they're feeling and how they're going to respond long before they ever actually get the chance to. Talent. Curse. He wasn't sure. How lucky a person was really depended upon their perspective.

"I can't see you as the person I knew. I look at you and all I see is that bullet you just fired. You're not even a person to me anymore, you're a dead body and some coins."

Voice bitter and harsh with hatred, Remus just about managed to spit out his words without losing it all together.

"Then I think we have our answer as to what happens now. Don't we?"

"Oh come on just tell me!"

"I'll tell you at some point but it's not as interesting as pyrokinesis."

"Sure it is! If you don't tell me I might just have to tickle you in to submission."

"Don't you dare!"

Scrambling up and away from Roman, Janus began backing off, Roman's grin revealing that he was more than willing to get on with the chase and find every single weak spot that Janus had in regards to tickling until he gave up the information that he wanted. Slowly pushing with his hands until he was standing opposite, Roman tilted his head innocently as he stared at him.

"You really don't trust me, do you?"

"Roman, you would happily pin me down and tickle me if you thought it meant that you'd be able to find out what my capabilities are."

"Well you'd certainly tell me if I did."

"Besides the point!"

Roman had insisted that Henry clear today of any and all events. It had been extremely random for him to do so early on a morning, but Janus had walked into his office to find the butler standing there, erect and ready as ever as Roman was waving his hands around and giving instructions. He'd paused only momentarily to grin and wave at him as he walked in before leaning forward again and whispering to Henry that he wanted everything that was scheduled to occur today to be moved to another date. As far as Henry was aware there had only been one meeting with a large business owner and some paperwork, so it wasn't too much of a problem. For a second his eyes glanced backwards to view where Janus had positioned himself in the corner, going back to Roman in time for him to reply with a short "of course sir" and bow, hair flopping forward slightly despite the gel he had placed in it. All he had to do was claim that the First Minister was ill and could not meet anyone today, adding in the polite addition of 'but I would happily reschedule if you desire'. Works every time.

The second Henry had left, Roman rushed over to Janus, arms being thrown over his shoulder and the cheesiest grin on his face. Janus raised an eyebrow, leaning to kiss the top of his forehead before squinting and trying to read on his face what he was so excited about. After all, it was bad enough that he had just watched him cancel all of his arrangements for the entire day when there was stacks of paperwork that he knew Roman needed to finish and a journalist that was due later this week for an interview that he had promised he would prepare for.

"Guess what we're doing today."

"Well I get the feeling that it does not include actual work."

"Of course not you idiot. Ok, ok. Don't take your jacket off yet," his hand slipped into Janus' and he began pulling him out the office. "Come on, follow me else we'll barely have any time left of the day to enjoy."

Despite the fact that he was laughing and running along beside him, Janus couldn't help but point out that it was still seven o'clock in the morning and they weren't going to miss anything. Roman had hit his arm gently. He really had no idea where they were going whilst they went there, but Roman was more than comfortable with making up the lack of conversation as they walked. Rambling about something that had happened the day before or about how he had gotten a call from his mother asking how he was getting on and wondering when he was going to come and visit her again. Janus just listened, smiling softly over at him every now and again as they walked, the thumb stroking over the back of Roman's hand softly, fabric of the glove soft against skin and smoothing out any wrinkles that had been there as if they were nothing more than soft lines in melted butter. In his opinion, the best times that they had together weren't when they were drinking in one of Roman's many rooms or talking about things, it was when Janus was able to just stare at him with admiration and not be expected to do anything besides doting over his boyfriend.

Weird to say still. Boyfriend. Considering how he was Roman's bodyguard still, it didn't seem appropriate to say it. Straight after they'd confessed to one another, Roman had asked him if he wanted to make it official and despite the protests from Janus about how it would hinder his professionality and could mean that he is seen as not appropriate for the job, he had eventually caved and agreed. Roman was absolutely ecstatic and had begun bounding around the office in the childish way that he always managed to embody, and which made Janus laugh despite himself.

They'd ended up stopping a field about ten minutes away from the main building. There were flowers in it, planted in neat rows around the outside that surrounded them and looked as though they were in some sort of really large fairy ring. It was so peaceful it almost felt like it was illegal to them to be walking in to it.

"Are you sure we're okay to be here?"

"Totally! I used to come here all the time with Logan when we were kids. Its a really good place to be if you want somewhere quiet and no one ever disturbs you."

"So why are we here then?"

"Because," he began, spinning dramatically and throwing his arms out to show the entire of the field behind him, "we are going to spend the day together. I made Henry cancel all of the work I had to do so that I could bring you out here. All the time we spend together is in that house and whilst its great, I never knew that something so big could feel so stuffy and tiny when you're in it for so long and being the only one in it at times. I thought that maybe you would enjoy being able to spend time with me outside of it. Oh, and Henry is going to be bringing out a picnic later! He knows where we are." Grinning, Roman tilted his head back and fell backwards so that he landed like a star in the grass.

Henry had ended up bringing a picnic at around midday. Sandwiches and cakes and sliced fruits and pieces of pie and glass bottles filled with apple juice and just about anything that they could have wanted. He'd even laid out a blanket for them and Janus insisted he helped lay things out. It felt wrong not to do something when he was working. Half of the food had already been eaten and Janus had begun to slowly eat his way down the strawberries when the topic of powers had been bought up.

"Here's the deal. I won't chase you and tickle you into submission. But! We can ask each other one question about our powers and we have to answer honestly."

It felt like there was some form of catch behind this, but Janus frowned only slightly and nodded in agreement, taking his seat opposite Roman. Grabbing a grape, he threw it up into the air, tilted his head back and caught it right in his mouth. There a short round of applause that mixed with laughter and he bowed dramatically, joining in with the laughter as soon as he could without choking.

"Alright. I'm asking first though."

"Sounds good to me," Roman muttered, breaking a piece of bread in half and popping a section of it into his mouth.

"What does your powers actually mean? As in, I understand that you have pyrokinesis so you're able to summon fire and manipulate it at your will. But could you also reduce it if you desired to, or make it larger?"

Hesitating, Roman swallowed the piece of bread and leant back onto his hands. "I can summon it at will, as you said, which is the main part of it. I can make any part of my body light on fire without feeling a thing. I can also walk into fire without getting burnt which is pretty cool. I've found though that the larger the fire, the more difficult it is for me to be able to use my powers and actually control it. So if it was a candle or a small patch of grass, I'd be able to reduce it to the point where it was easy to put out. Larger ones.." His voice trailed off, gaze finding a spot just beyond them where a flower was spontaneously sprouting through the soil. Janus gently placed his hand on Roman's arm.

"Hey it's alright. I'm not going to make you talk about it if you don't want to."

"It's fine, really. I just.. well I haven't thought about it in a while. Not really had the time, nor have I had any need to." His voice struggled as the sentence went on, so he coughed and sat up straighter. No time to dwell on the past. "Alright, my question. What is your power and what does it do?"

"Hey! You can't just-"

"You agreed! You can not back out of this now."

A long, heavy sigh. "Fine. Well I have this things where I can make people do what I want."

They both fell silent. More specifically, Janus fell silent and Roman was sat waiting for him to continue. After about ten seconds, he realised that the other man had not intentions of saying anything more and so he leant forward and pushed him playfully.

"There has to be more to it than that. I told you about mine!"

"I don't really talk about it. Or use it." Janus shuffled uncomfortably. Talking about his power wasn't something that he did on a regular basis, and was a conversation that he avoided having all together if he was able to draw attention from himself. The problem with that right now was that Roman was incredibly observant, not to mention persistent. There was no chance of him being able to direct their focus onto something else. "Technically speaking its called Manipulation. If I shift my voice in this sort of, hiss-like one, I can tell a person to do something and they will do it. No matter what. I could tell you to jump and you would and there would be no control that you would have over your body whilst doing it." He rubbed the back of his neck, scratching it instinctively. "It also works with verbal commands. Like, if I used it and told you to tell me your darkest secrets than you would."

"That-"

"It's awful I know. I haven't used it in years and I only ever use it if it's absolutely necessary to save someone or keep someone safe."

"No, no! I was going to say that it was really cool!"

Startled, Janus' head whipped over to face Roman. "What?"

"I mean it! You could do so much with that power. And sure, it could be seen as a negative thing because there's so much bad that you could actually do with it, but there's also so much good that could be done with it. You could stop criminals from committing crimes just by telling them not to. You could literally save a person's life." He smiled. Genuinely smiled. It wasn't one of those faked smiles, the forced ones people tended to put on when he told them what he could do, as they backed away slowly as if he was about to tell them to go jump off a cliff. "You're a literal superhero Janus."

"I mean. Well. So are you. So is everyone."

Softly giggling, Roman crawled over the small amount of space that was separating them and kissed Janus on the cheek, watching with some great amusement as he became flustered and began tripping over what he should say next, fingers brushing against the spot that he had kissed and face growing redder by the second.

"Would you mind if I asked another question?" Janus slid his hand slowly over his cheek and shook his head. "Why do you wear gloves all the time?"

"Oh."

His entire demeanour changed in an instant. The blush on his cheeks seemed to fade into nothing and the blood rushed out of his body, down to his toes. Ducking his head against his chin, Janus fiddled with the edges of the gloves in question, pulling them further up his wrist to make sure that they weren't going to fall off. He usually did that a lot, the double checking that they were in place. But he'd stopped it recently for some reason and all of a sudden he had become far too aware of what was happening and how the edges were curling up his palm, nearly revealing a shred of skin that lay underneath.

"It's fine if you don't want to say. I didn't realise it was so upsetting for you to talk about."

"I wouldn't say upsetting," Janus whispered, fabric rubbing against his skin. "I just don't really like to discuss it. Anything to do with me growing up has sort of been removed from my mind so I don't mention it all that often. Especially the gloves."

There was a fine line between being a member of the scum of the state in the lower provinces, and being someone who people admired in the higher ones; and Janus' family had walked it for years. Being in the third province meant that they had money, they had food and a decent place to live and he'd been pretty well educated, but there was nowhere near the luxury that you found in the first province and they were a lot more lenient regarding the laws. It was not quite the free for all that he adored and found when he was in the fifth, but guards could be bribed if the right amount was offered and things could become an oversight, forgotten about in an instant and never actually reported to authorities. Maybe that was why he had found that no one actually cared about how he was treated.

His parents had called it rightful punishment. He wasn't sure what to call it. All he knew was that it wasn't rightful. The slightest thing wrong and they would be screaming at him, throwing in his face every tiny thing about him that wasn't perfect, coming up with new and increasingly more painful ways to make him understand that they wouldn't stop until he was everything they wanted. Unless he was absolutely perfect, he was in danger. 

When he was fourteen they had exams during an English lesson. It was analysing a text from a book and whilst English had never been his strongest subject and was often the cause of some form of hatred back home, he tried. Gods he tried. It was a new text thought and he'd understood absolutely none of it, getting an E when the results finally came back. To say his parents were livid was an understatement. By this point he'd learnt not to even try and explain what had happened and just accept the consequences, but they kept talking about his hands. He wasn't sure why, but they were. They seemed certain that he should be able to make a better link between his brain and his hands and that because he wasn't trying to do that, he was essentially failing deliberately. 'If you refuse to use your hands properly than I guess we'll just have to make you see how much you actually need them.' That was the exact line they had said to him. He could recite it from memory forwards, backwards, he could rearrange the words into any combination that you wanted.

Apparently, making him realise just how much he actually needed his hands involved having his father clamp his hands down onto the table with his own. Which doesn't seem too bad, were it not for the fact that his father was able to make acid appear out of his skin and he began melting him. Literally. He could feel the skin melting and blistering immediately and when he tried to pull away his mother had been there to force him to remain still, neither of them budging even when he was sobbing and apologising and begging for them to just let him go. In the end it had only been fifteen minutes. Only fifteen minutes. But his hands were scarred and blistered beyond anyone's healing ability and layers of it were flaking off every time he moved.

He hadn't gone to school for a couple of days, just to allow it to heal. After that he had worn gloves everywhere he went. Even know he only took them off as an absolute necessity - which was on very rare occasions - at which point he would do what he needed without looking anywhere near them. It made him sick to think about.

Tapping his shoulder gently, Roman drew him back into the real world surrounding him.

"You're not making me talk about the fire, so I won't make you talk about the gloves," he said quietly, soothing his voice to a balm that swept of Janus. "Here, why don't we eat the rest of the strawberries and talk about something else?"

That seemed like a good idea. A very good idea indeed.

Sat in a car nearby, Logan had alternated between completing work on his laptop, writing in a notepad random ideas as they popped into his head and staring out at the field where Janus and Roman were.

His reasoning behind this had been that, if he was caught, he could claim that it wasn't stalking if it was for the purpose of making sure that the both of them were safe, especially considering the fact that the person who was supposed to be in charge of making sure that Roman was protected at all times was actually on this fate with him. Who knows what could happen to them whilst Janus' guard was down. He needed to be able to swoop in and help if the situation required it, and so far it simply had not. Everything appeared to be going smoothly and whilst that most definitely pleased Logan as he didn't want to have to help them because that would mean that Roman was in trouble, every time he allowed himself to glance out the window and stare at their picnic and their laughing faces and how close together they were at any given moment, he felt his chest squeeze tighter and he became concerned that he was having a heart attack.

However, he was making use of the rest of the time that he was there. It was remote and secluded so it was perfect for making top secret plans. Even if it was the place that he thought was only meant to be shared between him and Roman on evenings where they would stare out at the stars and compare constellations and talk about things in their life that they never talked about with anyone else. He'd come up with a plan that meant that he may be able to figure out who the cloaked figure was that kept stealing from all the upper province houses - Virgil.

Of course he didn't have any proof that this Virgil character was actually the person that he had been looking for, but it was very rare that his intuition was incorrect and right now he was more than certain that he needed to find him. If he went back into the healers shop that the man who owned it would simply say that he wasn't there, and even if he got a warrant to search the building and showed it to him, the other man would most certainly have left so that his brother didn't get into trouble. He was definitely covering for Virgil, and Logan was determined to find proof regarding the reason why.

He planned on firstly having several undercover guards be nearby the healers shop at all times. That way, if Virgil did leave the premises then they would be able to get him and arrest him on suspicion of robbery and the evidence could come later. The only problem with this specific plan was that, with no evidence, he would be released by the end of the day.

Second part of his plan was to have guards set up outside all of the buildings which would classify as similar to the ones which had been targeted before. He appeared to have a pattern of going to residential homes in no higher than the second province, always between midnight and two am and taking things only from the top two floors. Anything lower than that would make it more difficult for him to run back up and use the roof as his escape hatch. Which leads nicely onto the subsection of the second part of his plan. There would be guards stationed on the rooftops of all houses which could be targeted. Whilst having men on the ground would be amazing, typically he always comes and goes via the tops of buildings, so they would hide people behind the large decorations or chimneys so that when he appears they will have the advantage thanks to something Logan called the element of surprise. There would be no way for him to avoid them if he was not aware that they were there to begin with.

Taking a sip from his mug of coffee, Logan placed the notepad on the seat beside him and leant the side of his head against the window. The cool glass was able to reduce the flared up heat in his cheeks that had appeared from noticing Roman lean forward and kiss Janus on the cheek. This was highly unprofessional. Really he had half a mind to report Janus for misconduct and ensure that he either was fired from this job immediately as he was not taking into consideration the health and safety of Roman, or ensure that he was never hired in the first province again. He never would do that, though. It would tear Roman apart and he wasn't sure the satisfaction of seeing Janus gone could ever compare to the pain he would see in his friend.

Why were emotions so incredibly confusing? It would be so much easier if he could just look in the mirror and read his own mind and understand what it is that he was feeling, what it was that he actually wanted. Because all that he knew right this second was that he didn't want to just be sat in a car by himself, watching with some heartbroken sort of longing at a couple that he knew were never going to break up, downing unhealthy amounts of caffeine and attempting to distract himself by obsessing over a case. He wanted to know how much he actually cared about these thefts, about proving that Virgil was connected to them one way or another. If he thought logically then he would have realised that he only began getting in to them in detail when he realised that Janus and Roman were a lot closer than he first believed, and after accidentally walking in on them kissing, his interest and determination to locate the thief had only double in size. Tripled. Every molecule within him wanted to find the person and prove to Roman that he was still worth his time.

Wait, no. He wanted to do it to reassure the people of the state. Not for Roman. It was his job, not a personal quest.

There wasn't that much coffee left in his jug so he was going to have to go and refill it soon. A nice coffee shop nearby knew him rather well and he had a tab there which he paid on the first of every month. It helped when you always went to the same place everyday, and all the staff know you from that rather than because of your job. It was refreshing.

Even if he was only going there today as they were nearby, Logan did have to admit one thing. Their coffee was incredibly good. Insanely good. He only ever got a plain black, but it was the nicest roast he had been given in a long time.

As Roman and Janus pulled away from each other once again, Logan set out an elongated sigh and popped the car door open, stepping out of it and closing with as much silence as he was able to create. No point in alerting them of his presence here. Mug clenched tightly in his hand, he set off to the coffee shop, not daring to look back over his shoulder at the field where he knew his own heart had been slashed into pieces.


End file.
